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Title: the dreams in which I'm fighting are the best I've ever had
Fandom: Bourne Supremacy
Pairings: past Jason Bourne/Kirill; established Jason/Marie
Word Count: 2041
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Jason does not tell Marie about the dreams where sparring feels like love and strong hands catch him when he falls.


There are some dreams that Jason does not write down.

Instead the former assassin tries to forget them, to let them disappear within the abyss that is his past and sink back into the darkness whence they came. Jason does not record these nights because he does not wish them to be granted the weight of truth, but not for the reason that Marie assumes. For unlike the usual dreams which come in flashes of pain and viciousness, remorseless death staining his hands, these are not nightmares and that is why they terrify him.

He wakes from these memories trembling and panting as though under attack, shoving Marie's hands away to stumble out of bed. She is too soft and fragile in those moments, so soft that he cannot stand her touch for fear that he might lash out and hurt her without cause.

The first night Jason dreamed of this his lover followed him into the bathroom, trying to soothe away his panic with her voice. Marie wanted to help as she always did and she never learned how close she came to dying when she reached out a hand.

He almost killed her then, wanted to take her by the throat and snap her neck with ease for he was still lost within the past and she was not right. She was not the one whom he expected and it took Jason everything he had to remember that he loved her long enough to back away. There was tension thrumming beneath his skin and he looked around wildly for someone to fight or fuck, someone who could handle the damage he might deal.

Yet there was no one there, just ghosts and shadows in his mind and eventually Jason slumped back against the wall with his head buried in his hands. Only then did Marie kneel by him, placing her hand gently on his shoulder as she asked her lover what was wrong.

She wanted him to write it down as usual, to add to the endless pages upon which his nightmares roamed. But the assassin refused her; he lied to her as he had never done before. Instead of giving her the facts, Jason swore he did not remember what visions tore him from his sleep and he has never once told Marie the truth.

Because Jason will not taint her with the knowledge of the strange and feral joy which fills him just before he wakes and the rich laughter echoing in his ears. He does not want to believe that he was ever happy as a killer and yet this hope cannot stand up beneath the weight of his desire. For these dreams leave him aching, yearning for something that once was and for someone who may not even live.

It feels like a betrayal every time, a betrayal of everything he and Marie have gone through, yet Jason does not know why because he dreams only of fighting.

He remembers strong hands striking at his weak points before being deflected with a laugh and sharp eyes narrowed in concentration. Kicks slam hard into his ribs and then they go back to circling warily, teeth bared in equal grins. In every dream they spar full out, attacking fast and lethally and yet Jason knows that the other man does not seek his death.

There is too much joy in their fights for this, the glee of facing one nearly his equal without the tinge of fear which comes with killing. It burns within him like a drug every time he wakes and he craves the feel of strong muscles shifting beneath his hands, strength that can match him strike for strike.

So even though these memories have never shown a touch in kindness or the consummation of the desire in his veins, he is sure in his heart that they were lovers.

Jason had thought about it sometimes, even before the dreams, how it would be to sleep with someone whom he could not accidentally harm. It had been a revelation to discover that his eyes followed men as much as women, another piece of the puzzle of his past. But the assassin's love was Marie's even then and he put those thoughts from his mind until a shadow rose to torment him with his divided heart.

No name has ever been spoken but this does not mean that Jason does not know the one with whom he fights night after night. He knows him by the dark eyes that smile rarely and laugh only with him, the short black hair which is rough beneath his hands. Jason knows how the other moves almost better than he knows himself and he can recognize another assassin in his skill. There is a comfortable familiarity in their meetings which speaks of long acquaintance and he sometimes wonders if this man ever looked for him. If this man ever thought about him after he was gone.

Because there is more than desire in his heart when he awakes and his longing is not just for any partner who can match his strength. Jason misses this man in particular, whomever he may be, and he wants to see him, to talk to him and to love him as he did in the past.

But he also hates him and the dreams for challenging his rejection of the person he used to be. To accept that Jason Bourne, CIA Agent and covert assassin, fell in love is to accept that his life before had redeeming qualities and how can he do that when Marie is always telling him that there is a better way? To have cared for anyone as much he loves her feels like infidelity and when he can stand to touch her again, he tries to bury that old desire in the sweetness of her lips and the softness of her skin.

Unfortunately for his peace of mind, the success of this technique is limited so by the time he and Marie reach India, Jason has learned to deal with the dreams by running, sprinting until his hands shake and his breath comes in shaky gasps. Only once he is completely exhausted do the ghosts finally retreat, disappearing into the black hole of his memory where such shades belong.

During this time the couple continues traveling and when they reach Goa everything changes. Something about the people there speaks to both their souls and so the couple stays in the city for several months instead of moving on like they had always done before. Marie feels at home there and Jason enjoys the anonymity tourism allows, while both of them appreciate the way the heat seeps into their bones. They are surprisingly content and the former assassin feels himself relaxing, perhaps foolishly believing that after two years Treadstone has moved on to other things.

Maybe it is this gradual weakening of his vigilance but those dreams begin to appear more often until most nights he wakes with an itch beneath his skin. And it is there in Goa that Jason finally gets confirmation of what he has always known.

This dream starts the same way as always, the other man slipping around his strikes with lethal skill and returning a flurry of kicks that he can barely see to block. But this time Jason misses his last dodge, a knee buckling where it should have twisted and a hand slams into his chest. He falls back, struggling to regain his balance as his injuries protest, but before he can hit the ground those same arms catch him with a laugh.

The former assassin relaxes easily into the hold and that more than the kiss which follows shows the strength of the bonds of trust between them. Even after two years with Marie, Jason still has trouble letting go but in this dream he sinks into his lover's embrace without fear of injury and returns the kiss with all the passion in his heart. The other chuckles against his lips and pulls him flush against his body, their sparring given over to a different kind of fight.

Jason wakes then, the rich taste of the man's mouth lingering like an echo on his tongue and for a long moment all he can do is lay trembling upon the bed. Until Marie stirs beside him and he shoots upright, throwing on the first clothes that come to hand.

I can't deal with her right now, he thinks as he flees their small shack, closing the door quietly behind him. His mind is filled with turmoil at this new revelation, for knowing that he was loved and feeling it were two very different things. So Jason runs, sprinting all out down the path and hoping that the familiar rhythm will help him sort out the chaos in his heart. He still loves Marie more than anything, but now he understands that he truly loved this other man as well.

Yet as he turns the problem over in his mind, he realizes that this revelation does not change anything except his own perceptions, because that love is tied intrinsically to his old life and Jason meant it when he left those days behind. By the time he finally stops, the former assassin has found some measure of peace with his epiphany and he thinks that in the future the dreams might leave him be.

While he knows that he cannot simply forget about the other man and what they had together, the past does not have to threaten this new life he's built. The new Jason Bourne cannot atone for his sins unless he accepts them as his own and yet if he claims his misdeeds he must recognize that there was joy as well. Indeed now that he has thought about it, Jason actually finds it somewhat comforting to know that his former self was capable of caring that deeply for another and maybe an assassin did not have to be as remorseless as he had thought.

So his heart is somewhat lighter when he finishes his run and wanders into the market, as always fascinated by the cacophony of noise and color that surrounds him. Though the chaos makes him twitchy again, the crowds triggering all his former watchfulness and perhaps that is why he notices the car.

On any other day it might have seemed innocuous but this morning his instincts scream that something is not right. When he looks closer, he realizes that the car is the wrong style to belong to any local and far too nice for the usual sort of tourist who passes through these parts. But Jason could have passed his worries off as paranoia if he had not seen the man.

It is the shirt that catches his eye at first because that too is not quite right, and yet it is the broad shoulders beneath it that make him freeze in his tracks. He recognizes those shoulders and the long sweep of the other's back; Jason knows how that waist would feel beneath his hands. When the man turns, his eyes catch on those sharp cheekbones and the lips that he has kissed so many times, before traveling up to meet the assassin's heated gaze.

As he stares at his old lover, the former agent realizes just how easy it would be to slip back into the life he left behind. Kirill, he thinks, a long-forgotten whisper called to light and for a moment he hesitates upon the brink. But where there once was passion in those dark eyes, Jason sees nothing but an endless fury and he understands that this is no peaceful visit from the past.

So he turns and runs from it instead. Kirill is one of the best, he knows it in his bones, and he must find Marie before it is too late. Whatever love the two of them once shared, those days are long over because Jason Bourne is dead now and there is nothing else to say.


End