Disclaimer: I don't own 'The Bourne Supremacy' or any of the film's characters mentioned in this story (big D'uh there!); they belong to Universal Pictures. All I do own is the new story and the original characters. So please do not sue me as I am too poor to pay – if you do, all you could end up winning is a rust bucket of a car and a menagerie of rescued animals that would make a seriously hacked off Kirill seem like a cakewalk:O)

This story is finished, and I will try and get all the chapters up as soon as possible. It starts directly at the end of 'The Bourne Supremacy'. Hope you all like it. :O>

Summary: Kirill survives the tunnel in Moscow, but only because of the quick actions of an English nurse. He agrees to help the CIA get Uri Gretkov on one condition; he gets to keep Kerry Jefferson, the nurse that helped him, when he goes into their witness protection programme. These are two damaged people drawn together against their better judgement...the final outcome is anyone's guess.

THE BOURNE SUPREMACY

THE KIRILL EFFECT

Chapter One – Aftermath

She dodged past the man with the gun, her heart in her mouth – the other man in the black car was badly hurt, she could see that plainly even if she hadn't been a nurse.

Thankfully the one with the gun ignored her and walked up the off ramp, he was dripping blood and limping – but he was walking, so the guy in the car took precedence.

She turned to her friend "Call the paramedics." Her Russian, whilst fluent, had a different accent to it that gave her away as a foreigner. English actually, but she'd lived here for 8 years; buried herself away from the pain and hurt of her old life.

They got him to the hospital, ironically her hospital, and saved his life.

She'd been the one to do the most caring for him, it felt right somehow – and as he slowly began to improve she was happy; happy to have done something right for a change.

God knows she'd spent enough of her free time sat next to his bed chatting to him about all sorts of shit, just trying to keep him tethered to this life – but what for? If it was her she'd be bloody happy to shuffle off; still here she was trying to make sure he hung on too. Maybe she just felt she shouldn't suffer this existence alone – that someone else should be made to stay as she had.

Eventually a woman called Pamela Landy came to see her – the man was an assassin, like the man on the off ramp; they were trusting her with some very classified information because they needed her. It seemed Aleksei Kirill, which was the Russian's name (though he apparently preferred just Kirill), became agitated when anyone else went near him so she was being allocated to care for him alone.

It seemed odd as the other participants of Project Treadstone hadn't formed any emotional attachments, it was part of their conditioning – but, like Bourne, Kirill had been finding the conditioning wasn't holding any more…..not since the accident at least.

He found himself looking for her when she wasn't there – he cursed his weakness for feeling anxious if she wasn't with him; but all he could remember was her soft voice comforting him when he thought he was dying, anchoring him here when he wanted to die and smiling at him when he first opened his eyes.

Her eyes – they were the oddest blue he'd ever seen; almost like slightly faded denim, and had black rings framing them almost like her glasses framed her eyes themselves. She had little crinkles at the corners where she obviously laughed a lot; yet they also looked sad, deep down where you wouldn't normally see unless she was close to you – as she often was with him; giving him water, helping him to sit up – you could see some kind of long resident pain there.

She had a bad scar on her neck that ran into her hairline and a deep one across each wrist. But something about the way she always made sure her hair pretty much covered it, and her wrists usually had a large watch on one and loads of black bracelets on the other made him be, for once in his life, considerate and not ask.

He knew that she was with him alone now when she was at the hospital; that the Americans were involved in that, and other things connected to him – that he had been taken off the hands of his embarrassed government, who were also a little annoyed that his conditioning obviously hadn't been as thorough as Bourne's.

He thought it amusing that they wanted him to be like Bourne, an automatic killer even when he didn't want to be. Whereas he, Kirill, knew exactly what he was doing and accepted it – but in their eyes that was his weakness.

So the Yanks took him, so long as he testified against Uri Gretkov, they'd put him in some witness protection thing and blah, blah, blah……..but then the Landy woman had added that they would let him keep Kerry Jefferson, that was her name apparently, she could arrange it with the British Embassy; wherever he went, she would have to go……..if he testified.

So he did it, he owed the man no loyalty – as soon as he was fit enough, he testified against Gretkov…..who met with a fatal accident on his way to prison after the verdict was given. Kirill hadn't been surprised when he heard; he'd known the government couldn't let his old boss live, he was just too corrupt.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Kerry hadn't been happy when she'd first been told of the 'arrangement' as Pamela Landy had called it; she had stalked into his hospital room, yelling in English because she was so mad "why? Why me? I only tried to help you!"

He doubted she'd ever understand how she made him feel – quiet; he hadn't been quiet for a very long time. There was always a buzzing in his head; giving him a headache, making his temper flare, sitting in clubs even in the middle of the day so the thumping bass, loud music and vodka shots would drown it out just a bit - making him want to do anything to stop it….……

But with her, it did stop – maybe not totally; but enough for the headache to dwindle, his temper to calm. But he did not tell her that, instead he said "you wouldn't understand."

The slap caught him by surprise, but when she went to do it again he grabbed her wrist "never do that again." He ground out.

"Or what, you'll kill me! Oh yes I know….I know I saved an assassin that was nearly killed by another one!" she all but yelled.

The she let out a squeak of surprise as he tugged her to where his lips were inches from her own, hazel green eyes locked with blue ones as he growled "I would never hurt you." He let her go and she sat on the bed for a moment before, with scarlet cheeks, she got up and walked out.

They didn't speak of it again.

0-0-0-0-0-0

She came in the next day, as instructed, and sat in a chair – she refused to talk to him, either in English or Russian, all day.

So he sat in stony silence too. Pamela Landy watched from the little window in the door "she hasn't even told him she speaks Russian" she shook her head "if they don't kill each other, they might actually make it." She smiled to her aide "but she's got an evil temper….and he's trained to kill, not a good combination really."

Inside the room, silence reigned for another hour then Kerry got up to leave; as she got to the door a quietly spoken, heavily accented "see you tomorrow Kerry" followed her out; she couldn't halt her exasperated snort and chose to ignore his chuckle.

0-0-0-0-0-0

This went on for a fortnight; in the end the CIA agents and the hospital staff all had sweeps going on who would break first. She would come in every day and sit silently reading a book, doing a crossword, or similar. He would sit equally as silently reading a paper or magazine the staff had given him…anything to stop the poor sod just staring at the wall.

By the end of the first week, he was now not even saying goodnight to her – he had no need, they both knew she would have to report back in the morning.

As it was it was Kerry who cracked first….but only when provoked; he had decided to make her talk. So he ripped the pages from the magazine he'd finished, and made paper aeroplanes out of them. He had 65 in total – by 64 she was ready to bludgeon him to death with his IV stand.

"Will you STOP throwing those at me!" she had crumpled them all into little balls as they'd hit her, and now began to throw them at his head – her aim was good.

"You talked first." He grinned in arrogant delight that his little scheme had worked so well, ignoring the paper balls bouncing off his head.

"What?" she was genuinely confused for a moment then, as he continued to grin in triumph, realisation dawned and she glared "oh bugger off you bloody child!"

"Niet, you lost and I won!" he crowed.

"You cheated so it doesn't count!" she argued, throwing the rest of the paper all at once.

"You were the one trying to send me to your Coventry…..so therefore you are the child" he pointed out condescendingly.

They spent the rest of the day bickering about it – but when she got up to leave he grinned "Goodnight Kerry, see you tomorrow."

She left muttering about "cheaters never prosper…"

He merely laughed saying he already had.

0-0-0-0-0-0

So life continued; eventually he was fit and testified against Gretkov. The man sat in the defendant's box knowing the assassin's testimony was signing his death warrant, but not a flicker of emotion passed over either man's face.

Kirill refused to have Kerry accompany him "if they see you, you will be in danger from them. Better it is just me."

"Right, so me being made your own personal slave, or whatever you want to call it, is okay and not a threat – but going with you to something that will be emotionally draining and could put your recovery back is?"

"Da."

"You are such a man!"

"Good, I am glad you noticed – it seems medical school was not a complete waste for you then." he tilted her chin with his finger as, all mirth gone, he leaned so close you could not see daylight between them and whispered "I would need to feel emotions for them to be drained – thankfully I do not."

She growled her frustration at his pig-headedness………….but let him go alone.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Six months later they were settled in New Zealand. It had been her decision, she liked New Zealand she had said, her parents had taken her there when she was small and she remembered it from the Lord of the Rings movies. There was a lot of space to get lost in, you could be as invisible as you liked there.

He had smiled at the way she was trying to be cool and detached with both him and the CIA people, but her excitement was amusing; he could see that the Landy woman was doing the same as him – her stifled smile spoke reams. She was a decent woman, he wondered how someone that nice had lasted both in her job and staying alive.

But Kerry's excitement had been contagious and he'd found himself agreeing. He knew too that the nurse in her was also silently making sure that if someone did come for them, at least no more innocent bystanders would get killed – four had died in the tunnel – and that would ease her conscience too.

He had also finally found out she spoke fluent Russian when she'd said goodbye to the nurses she knew well at the hospital. He realised that all the times he'd muttered about her in Russian, she'd understood – he smiled, she was a real little spitfire; like Agent Fox had said "Don't piss her off too much Kirill – the woman's got a temper that would make hell shudder; believe me, you haven't see the half of it."

He then went on to tell him how she'd decked a doctor for saying they should have let the assassin die "everyone's entitled to live you piece of shit – if they weren't, trust me, you'd not still be breathing!" she'd spat at him as he sat on the floor nursing a bleeding nose. Fox smiled "she'd have made a brilliant agent."

So here they were; they had a farm with horses, sheep and pigs – though not many of the latter two. She had a large area for vegetables and the sheep and pigs were predominantly for their own consumption. The CIA made sure they had a reasonable income, and he knew he had a fair amount stashed away in a Swiss bank account should their largess ever cease.

They were now called Jessica and Sergei Vasiliev; a married couple from Volvograd in the Caspian Lowlands – they lived on a small (50 acre) remote ranch just outside Haparangi located near Rotorua on the North Island.

Their background story was that they had met when she went out to Russia as foreign exchange student and, despite her being three years older, they had fallen madly in love and married.

Kerry had smiled at the enthusiasm that Pamela Landy had told them the last part, realising that at her core the woman was a bit of a hopeless romantic.

She grasped onto her new identity with gusto, refusing to let Kirill call her Kerry any longer; insisting he call her Jess at all times just as she called him Sergei. He wondered at this and had questioned Landy, knowing she would be aware of all there was to know about his new companion.

She had refused to tell him "you chose her Kirill, you deal with it. But it's bad – she's suffered a….lot. She'll tell you in her own time – it's not my place." She hesitated "but if she has….nightmares, you might want to hug her; she could do with a few hugs I'm sure, despite the cold exterior she projects."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Sure enough one week into their new life he had woke from a dead sleep to her screaming the house down. He was glad that they lived in the middle of nowhere; if they'd lived in a city she would've had brought all their neighbours running, thinking he was murdering her at the very least.

He tried to placate her, but it was obvious that she was verging on hysterics. He had had to restrain her, mainly to stop her injuring herself more than him. It was pitiful to watch; he tried to talk to her, but she twisted and turned away.

Finally he hugged her to him, muttering into her hair in Russian; nothings really - but calmly, the way you would to a beaten dog.

At last she started to quiet and, instead of being rigid against him, she relaxed slightly and mumbled her thanks. She hugged him briefly then settled back to sleep.

This was to set the tone for most of their nights for the foreseeable future. He noted that if she was going to have the nightmare it would occur at precisely 2am; and in the end he found he could not get to sleep until that time had passed, and he'd either dealt with her or she'd slept on undisturbed.

One night he woke to find her wandering around in the dark; she walked into his bedroom and started asking where her grandfather was. She was distraught and kept saying she couldn't understand how he could die and leave her, not when he knew everyone else hated her.

Kirill realised how much she must've loved the old man; and could only wonder at the life she'd had before, that she felt 'everyone' (whoever they were) hated her so much that she couldn't cope with his dying.

Once again he managed to soothe her only by hugging her and settling her on his bed for a little while. Once she had gone back to sleep he picked her up and put her back in her own bed; knowing that she would throw a fit the following morning if she woke to find herself in his……especially as he tended to sleep naked or just in his boxer shorts.

He stifled a smile as he wondered what she would do, and whether he would risk it on another occasion. Maybe it was the fact they had little contact with anyone else, but she was most definitely growing on him…..what was it she'd said only that day – ah yes "you're growing on me Sergei, a bit like a wart."