I'm so sorry for the ridiculous delay. I have no excuses other than I didn't feel like writing. I took forever to start the last half of the chapter and then another eternity to type what I had written. Hopefully the length of this chapter will make up for it? Or maybe you can take this as a Christmas gift :) This isn't beta-ed, so any and all mistakes are mine.

Read and review as usual, please! :D

Chapter 7.

Waking up in a different bed every now and then had been a normal occurrence to her; different room, different cities, and sometimes even different countries altogether. It reached a point where it didn't bother her anymore; her brain and body had assimilated the foreign feeling with joy, happiness, anything that such thing should not represent. Sometimes she couldn't even recognize the comfort of her own bed, so familiar but cold and lonely.

In the past few months it only became more frequent, but this time there were no smiles to follow.

She shifted in bed and the weight in her head seemed to press harder against her skull. For a moment she didn't know where she was; Paris or Nancy or Cannes or some little town she had escaped to for a day, or even a few hours, completely lost in time and wondering what she had done the previous night to make her feel such pain in her head and body.

The lightening in the room was dim, sunlight filtering through the crack between the dark curtains covering the windows, giving the room the atmosphere of solemnity and nostalgia, and her heart clenched for some reason.

Then a hand appeared in front of her half open eyes and she blinked to bring it into focus.

"Pain killers."

Jason. In a second memories came crashing down on her with a force that almost left her breathless. She wasn't in a little secluded place in France, after all, but some seedy nondescript motel where she had hid with him after a truck had almost run them over. The pain seemed to be more acute now that she was well aware of it but she knew it was mostly psychological.

And he still didn't remember.

Then something else hit her: pain killers. They didn't have any, which could only mean Jason had gone out to get them. He had left her on her own, and even if she hadn't been aware of it there was a part of her that was still frightened by the prospect of being alone again. Just the thought of them parting ways made something inside her sink and even now she was already preparing herself for the separation.

She raised her arm to take the bottle from him and felt the sharp pull of sore muscle and sensitive flesh; her head was starting to throb. The pain made her forget her internal drama and be thankful for the medicine. It'd be very inconvenient if she had to run around with him in pain, even if it was bearable. "Thanks."

He placed a bottle of water on the nightstand and her heart did a little flip, as immature and juvenile as it was, from his attention. She missed being his focus, being taken care of by him, no matter how ridiculous it sounded, how self sufficient she had always been; having somewhere there for you changed everything.

She noticed he was already dressed and most of the room had already been wiped clean; she felt her cheeks burn as the awkwardness made her blush for being still in bed. It felt weird for him to be ready to go while she was still blinking away fragments of sleep. She panicked for a little moment realizing that he could leave her behind and she would never have time to follow.

Quickly she took the painkillers, helping it down with water, and then gingerly got out of bed, intent on getting dressed fast before he had the chance to change his mind and leave on his own. Her eyes watched him as he checked his watch.

He noticed and suddenly felt the need to explain, "There's a train leaving for Rome in 15 minutes, we're not going to make it, but if we hurry we can take the next."

"You should have woken me earlier," she said, grabbing her bag and making her way to the small bathroom.

"You needed the rest."

She stopped, hand on doorknob, the strap of her bag over her good shoulder, and looked at him willing him to remember, to please remember, to make that statement mean something deeper, something else other than what he really meant.

"You'll only slow us down if you can't stand on your own feet."

A half smile crossed her features and she looked down, pulling the door wider as she stepped inside, the cold titled floor being a welcome sensation to the sole of her feet.

She saw something cross his eyes, the lines on his face changing, deepening; the apology forming even before he was done thinking about it. "That's not what I meant."

She knew he was right. It'd be useless for the both of them if she couldn't carry herself. What would be the point of running if she couldn't do it? But there was still that part of her, the girl she was before it all, that spoke up too often for her liking, that wanted him to be her Jason again.

Instead she closed the door, breathing out heavily, relieved to be secluded within four walls that didn't have him inside. The past day had been emotionally and physically exhausting and even though she had blacked out for the duration of the night she still felt as if she hadn't slept for days.

She turned on the faucet and when she looked in the mirror above the sink she had to take a moment to let the reflection staring back at her sink in. Only once before she had felt as if life itself had run her over; back then the scars and wounds had been inside, a big gap left in her when Jason had turned his back on Paris; on her. This time it had all been transferred to her skin and the purple bruises were a certain attention catcher. She felt awful but she definitely looked worse.

Her face was red and purple where she had hit against the car window, the burned skin where the bullet had grazed looked a little raw and her hair was matted with dried blood in places she had missed last night. Nicky gently pulled back her fringe and looked at the cut along her hairline; it was long and it was swollen but all in all Jason had done a good job cleaning it up and sticking the sides together with the little emergency kit he had gathered.

She'd have an ugly scar once it was healed but like everything else it'd be hidden from view.

Once she had taken a general inspection of her looks and the initial shock had ebbed, she took the hand towel from the hook and put it under the running water until she was satisfied, then proceeded to quickly rub the blood off of her hair, and carefully wash her face. Knowing Jason was outside waiting unnerved her; it only made her want to finish fast so they could leave.

After she was finished Nicky cleaned the sink and wiped every bit of surface she had touched, then threw everything in the garbage and closed the plastic bag, taking it with her from the bathroom to throw it out once they left. She did a quick inspection of the room and satisfied with the result she stepped out of the bedroom.

Her bed had been made and the room cleaned; everything tidy and neat, as if nobody had ever slept in there. Jason was closing a garbage bag when he turned at the sound of her coming out and for a split of a second she saw him freeze then cover the surprise immediately.

"Make-up," she said, shrugging, almost embarrassed. She didn't blame him for being caught by surprise; one injured Nicky Parsons had entered the bathroom, only to a fresh new one to emerge. "I have a little kit in my bag. For emergencies." She had managed to cover up nearly everything with concealing cream and face powder; she had done such a good job that it looked almost natural, like a girl who had overdone her make-up, not someone trying to hide wounds. In any case, it was far better than the dark marks covering the right side of her face.

"It looks good," he nodded and his eyes finally left hers.

She stood there in silence for a moment, watching as he checked the room for the last time, and then remembered the bag she was holding. "I cleaned the bathroom."

Jason nodded, and took the bag from her. "Let's go."

She sighed and followed him out into another long day.

The train station was full; tourists and residents alike crowding the place and it made her nervous. There were too many people to watch, too many faces to study, too many places a killer could be hiding. She knew Jason had no problems processing every detail, and by now she was certain he already had the entire place mapped out in his mind, easy access exits, who was who, and train schedules; it made her feel a little calmer, safer.

She knew she could rely on him; trust him with her life, even if he didn't know who and what she had been to him.

They were sitting in front of a little café, the metal table small and round and they sat facing each other; except she was facing him in an unbreakable stare, her back mostly to the crowd while his eyes followed the people coming and going with the paranoia that had been brainwashed in him. He didn't seem to mind, or to pay her any attention; his eyes never left the crowd. She looked away. The coffee in both their cups growing cold, and her sandwich was untouched.

"You should eat."

Her eyes went back to him sharply, surprised; he was looking at her and she stared back until the intense glare of his eyes was too much, then looked down at her sandwich. "I know." She took a half hearted bite and forced herself to swallow. She knew she had to put some food inside her, specially since she was taking painkillers; she hadn't eaten anything besides the coke and chips she had the previous day as an excuse of a late lunch, but she just didn't feel hungry. The adrenaline and fear and worry were taking control, she was too nervous to eat.

She saw him check his watch for the twentieth time and started getting overly restless; their train was about to leave soon but Jason's paranoid caution kept them in place until the very last possible minute. She didn't condemn it, she just didn't want to risk losing the train and staying any moment longer than necessary.

Jason took a last look around and stood, his chair scraping the floor a little louder than she was comfortable with. "Let's go."

She got up immediately, the strap of her bag was already across her chest before she was fully standing, and followed Jason silently. He was faster than she, longer strides, but he held himself to walk at her pace by her side and she appreciated the gesture.

They were the last ones in, the doors closing behind them just as they entered the train. The car was full, crowded with loud tourists who didn't pay them any attention, and while being closed in such a small space with so many people was a little uncomfortable, Nicky realized they could blend in just fine.

FLORENCE – ROME

She had been filtering out the loud and cheerful voices ever since the train took off; the headache forming behind her eyes made her wish they had taken seats somewhere quieter. This time she was willing to fall into her thoughts of what-ifs and excuses and sorrow if it meant she'd be alone and in peace.

She realized that from now on there would be neither loneliness nor peace for her anymore, not for a long time, and had it been a few years back she'd have accepted it with a smile even if it meant having to hide for the rest of her life; it'd be just a small price to pay for happiness, to be with him. Now taking that journey meant waiting and hoping and agonizing and having her heart broken more times than she feared she could bear.

Jason hadn't said a word ever since they boarded the train and part of her wanted him to start a conversation, to act as if they had known each other better than anyone else in this planet did; yet another part kept telling maliciously telling her that things would never be like that again, the damage had been done and it couldn't be repaired.

I'm not CIA, she tried to remind herself, but the words were meaningless; by omitting herself she had easily become part of the problem. From the moment she had crossed the line with Jason her judgment became blurred, her actions questionable, her loyalties divided. She had taken everything from him, but given nothing; there was so much she could have done, things she could have said, different choices she could have made.

Her moments with Jason were clear, he had been more like a man with his brain untouched than like the assassin Treadstone made him to be; he wanted to be better with her. She could have tried to find out who he was, given him his name, encouraged him to choose them when his unspoken words weighted heavily on them; instead she shut it all out, ignored the possibilities, let her fear and cowardice speak louder. Any moment with him, stolen and real, was better than the uncertainty.

Now here they were, like two strangers without a past. Now here he was, broken and alone with so much more losses than she.

Had it all been really worth it? All the pain and death and misery, to ruin someone's life for her own happiness? For some wrongful "greater good"?

"I'm sorry." The words crawled out, barely above a whisper, shaky but sincere.

"For what?" He was surprised, but she was used to seeing this expression on his face.

"Everything? For what they did to you. For not doing anything. For not helping." For going with the flow, for choosing what was easy, not what was right, even though she didn't want to be part of that anymore, a system that had become the opposite of what she believed in, of the reason she had joined it for, that had become greedy and murderous, destroying everything it touched.

"You did help me." Even if it had been at gunpoint she was still the one that had offered her car and knowledge and refused to give up the information about Daniels before they were halfway down the stairs. He still knew that the moment he heard Vosen's voice on the phone, there would be no easy way out for her, not after she had lied to them.

Maybe back then he thought she owed him for what they had done, but he realized later that she been just another pawn in their game.

She started at him and the words almost came out; not enough, she wanted to say, but something warmed up inside of her at his words. Maybe she was selling herself short, or maybe she just couldn't ruin this moment, where after so long he was finally thinking something good of her again.

His eyes lingered on hers for just a moment before moving back to the people in the train.

"I didn't know who you were," she said after a few moments of silence. She didn't know if what she was saying was the right thing or if she should be talking about this at all, but she needed him to know that she hadn't kept that kind of thing from him. Maybe she just needed forgiveness for her actions and her mistakes.

He knew she meant David Webb and the life before it all. He never really expected her to know, not when she was such a small player in the whole thing, right at the bottom of the chain of command, just above the assets.

"They wouldn't let you have access to it."

"I could have easily found out, if I wanted enough, but-" But she didn't want to ruin whatever they had, she didn't want to risk her head.

He interrupted her, the pain and guilt in her voice like a knife thrusting in his chest; there were moments he forgot the reactions he had because of her, how, somehow, she always made him feel more human. "You'd never be able to access the information without bringing serious consequences to yourself." Not to mention he was sure she had more pressing issues to worry about, like her own life for being involved with him.

There was a flutter in her chest, a little bit of the weight she carried around on her shoulders lifting; he didn't blame her and that was something she was going to hold on to.

Their eyes locked and Nicky felt a realization sink in: he was a different person, his eyes were still the same shade of blue, they were softer but the intensity of her reaction to them was still the same; he still looked at her as if he could see right through her soul, even after all they went through, even after all these years.

He looked away, down at his hands. This time they weren't bloody and wounded, but they had the same power, the same ability to destroy. "The more I find out about who I was the more I wonder if it's really worth knowing." He paused as if he needed a moment to gather his thoughts, as if he needed a moment to be certain he wanted to continue. "Something happened to me before, bad enough to make me volunteer to join Treadstone knowing fully well what they did and I'm not sure if I want to know what it is."

His voice was coarse and small, breaking in moments and he was as vulnerable as he had been back in Morocco, in the seedy motel room, sharing his pain and seeking forgiveness for his sins.

It squeezed Nicky's heart seeing him like this, as if his pain was her pain, wanting to comfort him in every possible way and not being able to. So Nicky did the only thing she could think of, the only thing she could do for him right now; she rested her hand on top of his, her fingers closing around his palm, trying to give him comfort the best way she could under the circumstances, wishing she could take his pain away with just a touch.

He was taken by surprised, and looked at her. Her hand was too small on his, too delicate, warm and human and the feeling awakened something inside of him, just like the first time. He turned his hand her own slid into his palm, her fingers almost entwining with his. The feel of her hand in his was familiar; it felt nice, as if he had held it a hundred times before. He realized then that he could tell every crease, every line and imperfection apart, as if he knew her as much as he knew himself.

Nicky held her breath, frozen in place, realizing that something was happening with him, between them, and hoping upon hope that it was it, the moment, the turning point, that he was remembering something, anything.

She wanted to squeeze his hand, to sneak her fingers in between his and hold it tight, but was afraid that any movement would break whatever was happening right then. Then she felt his fingers brushing her palm, following the creases and she to use all her willpower not to grab his hand and pull him towards her.

"Your tickets, please."

Nicky flinched, pulling her hand away as if she had been burned, settling back in her seat with a flush on her cheeks like a child caught doing something she shouldn't. She watched as Jason handed out their tickets and settled back in his own seat, quiet and thoughtful, and sighed, regretting the moment that had just been lost.