Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

2006
Tech Services, Virginia

Days 1 through 53 of working for the IMF had been equal parts cool and terrifying. Cool, because Benjamin Dunn was doing work that he loved, decoding and encrypting, unlocking and hacking and bricking—all in the name of making the world a safer place. Terrifying, because what if he messed up some of that decoding or encrypting and an innocent person paid the price?

If that happened, he’d probably never know—that was one frustrating part of being in the generically (but not inaccurately) named Tech Services. He wasn’t even in Analysis, not that he envied those desk jockeys. He unearthed data, he passed data along, and he often never knew what the result of his efforts was. But he must have been doing a pretty good job, since they kept giving him more and different and more complex things to work on. The higher-ups trusted him to handle whatever tasks he was given. And he liked it. He liked his coworkers—a motley crew of seriously brilliant minds. He wasn’t even the geekiest one, not by a long shot. Sometimes he even felt a little bit, well, popular, chatting in commissary with the other techs, sharing new techniques, debating the merits of Star Trek TOS versus TNG.

Day 54 at the IMF was the day that things changed. Day 54 was the day he met Ethan Hunt.

***

When he thought back on that first meeting, he cringed. He’d been a baby-faced nerd trying to be clever. Wanting to show off for Ethan, who was so legendary around the office that Benji had known who he was by his second day of work. Ethan’s exploits were mythical. Could he seriously have broken into the actual CIA? It seemed impossible. Of course, impossible was Ethan’s stock in trade. Benji found that out immediately. He’d been told that Ethan was no longer in the field, that he only trained now. But Benji wasn’t stupid. He knew that someone with that much experience and expertise was never truly out of the game.

Day 54. Ethan had stopped by his desk, casually dressed in jeans and a black sweater. He asked about a file Benji had decrypted the previous day, wanting to know how he’d cracked it when three other techs had met with a brick wall. Benji found himself rambling on about back doors and decryption keys, all the while part of his brain was screaming at him that he was talking with the Ethan Hunt. Ethan nodded along to the explanation, and when Benji finally made his mouth stop talking, Ethan grinned. “Good work, Mr. Dunn.”

Benji’s face had pinked. “Benjamin,” he said.

“Benjamin,” Ethan had repeated. There was something about hearing his name in Ethan’s smoothly controlled voice. Benji felt his palms go sweaty. “Anyone ever call you Ben? Benji?”

“Uh.” He’d been Benny to his Gran and Ben when his mother had a sentimental moment. Otherwise, he’d always been Benjamin: a bit clunky, a bit nerdy, to go along with his clunky, nerdy childhood. He thought he’d grown into the name, had liked the way his few boyfriends in uni had said it. He liked the way Ethan said it, too. But he was in America now. Perhaps Benji was a more common nickname here? “Benji?” he said, almost doubtfully.

But Ethan grinned again. And there was something about Ethan’s smile, with his asymmetrical teeth, creases softening his otherwise chiseled face. It was a powerful weapon, indeed. “Benji,” Ethan said firmly, as if something had been decided.

***

After that, his job was still cool. Still terrifying. But now it was something more. He’d always had a purpose in working for the IMF. But now he came to work to fulfill that purpose and maybe, just maybe, to see Ethan Hunt, too.

Ethan was…amazing. He was maddening, and exciting. He made the sometimes mundane work that Benji did seem like it always mattered. He made everything more colorful, more alive.

Every time they met or worked together, there were still shades of that first meeting. Benji wanted to impress. Wanted to seem unaffected by Ethan’s magnetic presence. He usually overcompensated in both areas.

The day Ethan and Luther bore down on his desk, demanding his insight in the Rabbit’s Foot followed the pattern. Benji name dropped Oxford, internally wincing at how pretentious he sounded, spouting gibberish about unfounded end-of-the-world theories, just happy to soak up a little of Ethan’s attentions. But it seemed he’d done something right, because then there was Ethan’s “Great work, Benji.” The slap on the shoulder, the words of praise, which Benji knew Ethan meant. It was enough. More than enough.

***

He’d always be grateful that he was at his desk to answer the phone when Ethan called from Shanghai. He’d been a little nervous about helping someone he’d been told was a fugitive and wanted by the very agency they both worked for, but somehow the urgency in Ethan’s voice overrode all of Benji’s self preservation instincts.

When Benji had hissed into the phone, “Maybe we can share a jail cell together, you know?” he’d been overcome by the intimacy of the moment, Ethan’s voice burning in his ear, Benji responding with his signature over-verbal defensive banter.

“I’ll tell you when I see you,” Ethan had said. And, “I owe you.” And while Benji had no illusions that Ethan Hunt would bother to follow up on either of those promises, he still felt warm at the thought of Ethan needing him for anything. Helping Ethan was like a drug. It felt better than anything he’d tried back in his uni days, that was for sure.

***

He was nearly done decrypting the last batch of the day’s files when a familiar voice broke his concentration. “Hey, Benji,” Ethan said.

Benji jumped a little, winced in embarrassment. “Hello,” he said, surprised.

He hadn’t seen Ethan in weeks, not since he’d brought Julia in to meet everyone. She’d wanted to thank everyone who had been involved in getting her and Ethan home safely in person. Julia was beautiful and warm, lovely and smart. He could see in an instant why Ethan had fallen for her. She was…normal. Not average. She was clearly above average, but she radiated a sort of Noxzema-commercial wholesomeness that must have been appealing to a man who regularly defused bombs, broke into high security buildings, and dressed up in rubber masks three times a week. The bitter, bitchy part of Benji wanted to hate her, a little, for taking Ethan away from the IMF. Because why on earth would Ethan choose the IMF over Julia and a normal life? But Benji couldn’t hate Julia. She was too…real, too genuine. Too kind. Too grateful. Benji had found himself wanting to be her friend.

And so when Julia and Ethan had left that day, Benji had assumed that was it. That Ethan would put his days of impossible missions behind him. The office had seemed a bit grayer these last few weeks. But here he was, back in the office. Maybe the honeymoon was over. Maybe he was going to try to make it work. To have Julia and the IMF, too.

These thoughts swirled around Benji’s brain as Ethan pulled up a swivel chair. Benji sent off the rest of the files, turned to look at Ethan’s face. He looked—good. Tan and healthy. His teeth gleamed when he flashed a smile at Benji. Benji idly wondered if he had them whitened or if they were naturally pearly.

“You about done for the day?” Ethan asked.

“Yeah, I suppose. There’s always more metadata to parse, but we’ve got the scripts running, and they’ll ping me if anything important comes up so—” Benji closed his mouth with effort. A “yes” probably would have sufficed.

“Come on,” Ethan said, standing and stretching his arms over his head, lifting his black t-shirt an inch over the waistline of his jeans. Benji caught a distracting glimpse of skin and a dusting of fine black hair before Ethan dropped his arms and the hem of his shirt dropped along with them.

“Where are we going?” Benji asked, shedding his lab coat and grabbing his satchel.

“I owe you a drink. And an explanation.”

“I didn’t think you remembered,” Benji said. Then he blushed.

Ethan ignored his schoolboy awkwardness. “You like sake?”

Thirty minutes later they were in a corner table at a mid-scale sushi place on K Street. It was probably packed with lobbyists at lunch, but for now they had the place to themselves.

Ethan ordered drinks, cocking an eyebrow at Benji to make sure the order agreed with him. Benji nodded. He’d never been with Ethan outside the office before. It felt—weird. Like they were playing hooky, even though Benji had put in more than a full day, and Ethan possibly didn’t even work there anymore. He wondered what Ethan would do if he actually did quit the IMF. What career moves could an ex-agent make?

Over the sake and seaweed salad, Ethan told Benji about Shanghai. Benji had heard the bones of the story, of course. About Davian and Julia and the Rabbit’s Foot. And he’d assumed they hadn’t heard the complete story with Musgrave, since the guy had basically been bleached from IMF’s system within hours after his disappearance. Ethan filled him in on Musgrave’s misguided loyalties, his betrayal of Brassel and Lindsay and the IMF itself. Ethan’s eyes dropped when he talked about Lindsay. Benji had met her a few times. He’d thought she was a good agent. It was clear Ethan felt her loss keenly. Benji wanted to tell Ethan it wasn’t his fault, that he’d done everything he could. But that wasn’t his place.

Instead, he watched as Ethan ate sushi, his hands wielding chopsticks effortlessly, while Benji struggled to keep the pieces of fish intact from the plate to his mouth. Ethan was very good with his hands. Benji looked away.

“And how’s Julia?” he made himself ask. Because, after all, that’s why they were there. Ethan was going to tell him that he was leaving the IMF. For her.

Ethan’s smile at the mention of his wife was wide and happy. “She’s good. She’s really good. We went to the beach for a couple of weeks. But then she had to get back to work.”

“And you? Are you going back to work?” Benji asked, keeping his voice light.

Ethan leaned back in his chair and did that thing where his eyes unfocused, as if he was trying to look into the future. “I—I think so.”

“We miss you at the office,” Benji said.

“I don’t know how to do both,” Ethan said, his eyes refocusing on Benji. “But I’m going to try to figure it out.”

“Well, if anyone can, it would be you,” Benji said. And he smiled. He wanted to reassure Ethan. That everything would work out. But he didn’t know how it would work, either. Julia would always be in danger. Ethan would always put her first. And the fate of the world could get in the way, one way or the other.

They finished their meal quietly. Benji wondered if he’d said too much. But then Ethan said, “Benji—I just have to tell you—thank you.”

Benji looked up, confused. “For what?”

“For what you did to help me in Shanghai. You didn’t have to do it. But I couldn’t have saved her without you. You saved her life. You saved mine, too.”

For once, Benji couldn’t think of what to say. “Happy to help,” he managed.

Ethan picked up the checked, over Benji’s protestations. “I owe you,” Ethan reminded him.

“We’re even, then,” Benji said, as if favors that saved lives could be bought with decent Japanese food. Ethan nodded, smiled. Benji’s heart twinged unpleasantly.

“I’ll see you, Benji,” Ethan said, as they stood outside the restaurant. It was full on dark. Ethan needed to get home to his wife.

“Yeah. See you.” He hoped it would be sooner than later. As he walked to the Metro, he couldn’t help but shake his head. There was no reason to feel sad right now. Ethan Hunt had bought him dinner! He’d thanked him! He’d trusted him with classified information that Benji wouldn’t even add to the office gossip hotline. So why did his chest ache with a wistfulness that he didn’t want to name?

Benji liked Julia. He liked Ethan. He wanted things to work out for them. And besides that, Benji knew better than to fall for a straight guy. He couldn’t have Ethan—he didn’t want him. Wanting him would be ridiculous, even if he weren’t straight as a pin, even if he wasn’t married for heaven’s sake. They were two different beings.

Benji was like a planet, maybe just a dwarf planet. Pluto, perhaps. But Ethan was the sun. Big and hot and powerful enough to pull the planets into his gravity, into orbiting around him, hot enough to burn, to kill if you weren’t careful. Ethan was a star. Planets and stars are always separated, held apart by gravity. And if they aren’t, then the planet gets sucked into the star and is subsumed. Consumed. As wonderful and terrible as the idea of being completely consumed by Ethan was, Benji knew better.

He was okay with that. He didn’t want Ethan. He couldn’t have him. But suddenly, Benji understood that Tech Services was not where he was meant to be. He needed to be out in the field, boots on the ground, being a part of missions as they happened. He could have the rush he’d experienced helping Ethan navigate Shanghai all the time if he was in the field. Maybe he could even work with Ethan there.

Before going to bed that night he set his alarm for an hour earlier than normal. He’d be going for a run before work. Maybe he’d only make it a mile. That was okay. He had to start somewhere.

Chapter Text

2006
Virginia

Julia knew without a single shred of doubt that Ethan loved her completely, unconditionally. She loved him, too. He was amazing. And he needed to be loved.

She’d seen that from the moment they met, Lake Wanaka, heli-boarding for god’s sake. He’d smiled at her across the back of a helicopter and she’d seen something in that smile. With his looks and his confidence, it should have been a slick smile, the smile of someone who never met a girl he couldn’t talk into bed, or at least into having a drink with him. But it was almost—shy. And it wasn’t a put-on. She’d been around the block enough times that her bullshit detector was well honed. She’d grown very used to seeing through narcissistic asshole doctors who only saw her face and her tits and thought because she was lower than them on the totem pole she’d be happy to act out whatever perverted doctor-nurse fantasy they’d come up with. No, Ethan smiled at her like he wasn’t certain if she was going to smile back. As if he wasn’t sure he wanted her to. So of course, between that and the adrenaline pumping through her at the prospect of hurtling out of a helicopter to snowboard down a mountain, she fell for him fast and hard.

Things only accelerated from there. Through some quirk of fate, though they met thousands of miles away, they were from the same city. He’d been delighted to learn that she’d grown up in suburban D.C., that she worked at a hospital only a couple of miles from his job at the DOT. They moved in together so fast, it was like Ethan was in a hurry to check off the boxes. But she’d felt lucky that someone so kind, so protective, so beautiful, had seen her, really seen her, that she didn’t question it.

The proposal had been equally fast, but utterly romantic, in classic Ethan fashion. He was a little old-school, a little traditional. He bought a ring—too big, but she wasn’t complaining—and on their six month anniversary did the whole fancy French restaurant thing, red roses, dressed to the nines. They went dancing after dinner at the W. And on the rooftop, the lights of D.C. sparkling around them, he’d dropped to one knee and asked if she’d make him the happiest man in the world and say yes.

It was fast, and it was probably too soon. But that wasn’t the reason she felt her acceptance stick in her throat. It was because she’d always thought that the man she married would be the one she’d grow old with. The one she’d be with through the ups and downs of life, for the long haul. Try as she might, she couldn’t imagine Ethan and her growing old together. There was a mental block when she tried to picture him wrinkled and gray. He wouldn’t age in her mind. It was as if he was too vital, too alive, for her to see anything beyond the present moment.

He was good for her that way. She’d always spent too much time thinking about the future, worrying about upcoming exams, figuring out her Christmas presents four months early. She’d always clicked best with spontaneous guys because they got her out of her own head. Ethan made her stop and exist only in the moment that they were together. Which is why she hesitated, just for the briefest of moment. Long enough for her to see the flash of doubt in his eyes.

She made up her mind. If he was committing to a future with her, than she could do the same. “Yes,” she’d said, quiet and sure. He grinned, and laughed, and put the ring on her finger, and then they both cried a little. And everything was bliss until another night on another rooftop when Ethan asked if she trusted him. She did, but her instincts weren’t wrong when they told her that just because she trusted Ethan didn’t mean she wasn’t going to get hurt.

***

After Shanghai, Ethan did everything he possibly could to put them on a path where they could stay together. They told her disappointed family that they’d eloped, and threw an over-the-top party to make up for it. Julia went back to work at the hospital. She noticed that in her absence they’d tightened security. Now you needed a magnetic badge to get through most of the doors; she’d seen security cameras in dozens of new locations. She wondered how much it had cost to the do the upgrade. She wondered where the money had come from. But it made her feel a little bit safer.

Ethan went back to work, too, strictly training new agents. They owed him and agreed. After work they sometimes had long conversations that Julia knew exhausted Ethan more than his five-mile runs. He’d tell her the gist of what his job had been like when he’d been in the field. She’d be in turns horrified and impressed. She’d talk about how she didn’t want to live her life afraid all the time. He promised her that he wouldn’t let that happen. She accepted that, because she knew that he couldn’t promise it, but it meant something to them both that he did it, anyway.

They compartmentalized things. She had her work. He had his. And they pretended to be a normal newlywed couple after hours. But knowing what she knew, Julia couldn’t imagine what the Volvo and the dog meant to Ethan. Did it comfort him, the trappings of normalcy? Or did it suffocate, the meaningless little choices they made every day, when Ethan had seen what extremes humanity had been brought to, time and again? It hurt her to watch him banter with her friends, to pal around with her brother. It wasn’t him. He might have wanted it to be. Because he loved her and loving her meant fitting into her world. But Julia knew better. And she knew it couldn’t last forever.

***

2008

One day Ethan went back out in the field. He told her he had to go, and that she’d be safe. She didn’t question it. She didn’t really want to know how many agents he had shadowing her. She endured it because she knew it would make him feel better to know she was being protected.

The 72 hours he was gone were a nightmare. She was barely able to focus at work, unable to stop herself from imagining one horrific scenario after another. Ethan came back with a broken nose and six stiches in his thigh from where he’d been sliced with a box cutter.

They didn’t talk much about it, and weeks passed before he told her he had to go again. This time, he had Luther watch her. Luther showed up at the door with an overnight bag and a shrug. She knew that the potential threat to her must have been more serious if her security was being so dramatically upgraded.

Luther was the only one Ethan trusted with the job, but he wasn’t much company, since whenever she asked about his life or questions about Ethan he answered in the shortest, least revealing way possible. She liked Luther, and his unequivocal loyalty to her husband. But it wasn’t until the final evening they spent waiting for Ethan to come home that she figured out how to break through his shell.

“You want some ice cream?” she asked. They’d shared a mostly silent meal of lasagna and watched a Wizards game on TV.

“No thank you,” he said, politely distant.

She shrugged and served herself a bowl of Half Baked. Luther shut off the television after a resounding loss and started to make what Julia recognized as his safety checks of the house. “You think I’m going to hurt him.”

Luther stopped halfway to the French doors and hummed noncommittally. “I think his life is complicated enough. You’re the kind of complication he can’t afford.”

She thought about it, swallowed a bite of ice cream. “You know what? His life isn’t complicated. His life is simple. Wake up. Save the world, no matter the method, no matter the cost to him. Repeat.”

Luther chuckled. “Yeah, maybe you’re right about that.”

“And our love—that’s simple, too.”

Luther smiled, but not a happy smile. “Love is never simple. Love makes for problems.”

“You’ve known Ethan a long time, right?”

“Oh yeah.”

“You probably have some stories I’d love to hear,” she said, smiling.

“You don’t want even want to know,” Luther confirmed.

“And you know that Ethan, of all people, doesn’t back down from a challenge. If you tell him he can’t, he’ll find five ways that he can.”

“Stubborn jackass,” Luther agreed.

“So he thinks that he can save the world and he can save me, right?”

Luther’s expression turned troubled. “He’s done it before.”

“But you and I both know he shouldn’t have to make that choice. I mean, this is ridiculous. Are you seriously going to babysit me every time he has to leave?”

Now Luther looked concerned. “You said it—he saves the world no matter the method, no matter the cost.”

“But there are some costs that are too much to bear. His teammates. You. Me. He has his limits.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“I don’t want to be the one that stops him doing what has to be done. I don’t want to hold him back.”

“So you are going to hurt him,” Luther said.

Julia closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. She couldn’t win with him, it seemed.

“The man who makes the impossible happen doesn’t understand that relationships aren’t missions. There are no shortcuts. No decryption keys. No miracle gadgets. And you know him better than anyone. So I’m just asking you—when the time comes, can I count on you to help him, to help us, do the right thing?”

Luther looked confused for a moment, then his brow cleared. “You’re pretty sharp, Julia Meade-Hunt. We could use someone like you at the IMF, you know.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “No fucking way.”

***

“I asked Benji to come over and upgrade the cameras at the house. They have some new satellite uplink that’s 20% faster that what we have.” Ethan poured himself a cup of coffee from the coffee maker her sister had gotten them as a wedding present. Julia made a mental note to buy her toddler niece a birthday present.

“20% faster? Sure. Sounds good.” Julia wondered if there was something wrong with her life when security camera upgrades were a run of the mill topic of conversation with her husband.

“He said he’d come by today. If you’re home when he arrives can you let him in?”

“And if I’m not home?” She arched an eyebrow at Ethan.

“He’ll let himself in. That’s okay right?” He gave her an expression that mixed casual and quizzical. As if her having an issue with that hadn’t factored into his decision making whatsoever.

Julia was under no illusions that her home was particularly off limits to members of the IMF, especially the ones that Ethan trusted, like Luther and Benji. She shrugged.

“Thanks, Jules,” Ethan said. “We doing anything tonight?”

“I have class,” Julia reminded him. She’d decided that as much as she loved being a nurse, she needed a new challenge and was applying to medical schools. First step—taking the MCAT.

“So I’ll see you after class.” Ethan wrapped her in a hug. She loved Ethan’s hugs—they were always twice as tight as they needed to be. They made her feel cherished. Well, to be honest, she felt 99% cherished, 1% suffocated.

“Have a good day at work,” she said, as if they were any other couple and he was really going to study traffic patterns all day.

“I love you,” Ethan said.

“I love you, too.”

She had the day off, so she folded some laundry and cracked open her practice test book. The doorbell rang, startling her out of multiple-choice hell.

“Hi, Benji.” She greeted the technician with genuine enthusiasm. Part of the way Ethan dealt with their situation was by keeping his coworkers away from her, as a rule. She knew he couldn’t trust that there might not be another Musgrave right under his nose. But Benji was different. Ethan trusted him, and Julia had nothing but warm and fuzzy feelings about the funny, brilliant tech guy. But they still didn’t cross paths particularly often.

“Julia, hey, Ethan said you’d probably be here. I won’t take up too much of your time. Just have to make some hardware adjustments to the cameras, reprogram the server, stuff like that.” Benji talked too much when he was nervous. Ethan had mentioned it once, and Julia had picked up on it as well. She had no idea why Benji might feel nervous around her, but she always went out of her way to make him feel more comfortable.

“Of course, come on in. I was just putting on some water for tea.” She didn’t ask him what he wanted, just made two cups of PG Tips and placed one at his elbow where he was working in the little room under the stairs where the computers that ran security system were housed.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Sure.” She watched him work for a minute. Her nurse’s eye took in his appearance. He’d lost some weight since she’d last seen him, and his forearms were corded with new muscle. His clothes looked new, as if he'd had to get new sizes. His face had lost its roundness and he looked older—more mature, despite the faux-vintage Pixies concert T-shirt he wore. "You look great, Benji."

“Oh!” Benji flushed. “Yeah, I’ve been working out. You know. Running. Weight training. Boxing a little.”

“Good for you,” she said. “Any special reason? New boyfriend, maybe?”

Benji’s laugh was more of an embarrassed gurgle. Julia hid her smile. “No—ah—no. I’m actually—well, I applied for the field agent training program.”

Julia felt her smile fade. “You want to be a field agent?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well, you’ll be great at it. They’d be crazy not to take you.”

“Yeah, I actually just found out that I got in, so—”

Julia affected cheerfulness. “Congratulations!”

She tried to imagine funny, self-deprecating Benji, in the field. How he’d be forced to witness terrible things, forced to make terrible choices.

“Yeah, thanks. Um, don’t tell Ethan, all right?”

“Don’t you think he probably already knows?”

“Maybe, but since Brassel retired and the new Secretary took over they’ve been compartmentalizing like crazy. Trying to keep everyone in their lane so if there’s a security breach it’ll be easier to trace. The analysts barely know who the techs are. The field agents don’t even know each others’ identities unless they happen to work missions together. Recruitment is a whole other department. And since Ethan’s not really training any more, he probably doesn’t know.”

Benji must have mistaken Julia’s silence for a question. “And I just sort of wanted to do this on my own, if that makes any sense. So if you could not mention it to him…”

“Sure, of course. No problem.” Julia nodded and smiled. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

She took her tea back to her desk, stared at her book unseeingly. Ethan hadn’t told her he wasn’t training. He went on missions occasionally, but not as much as—she shook her head. Benji thought his own place was in the field. Ethan was fighting it, but she knew that was where he was supposed to be. She wondered how long it would be before Ethan saw it, too.

***

2009

It wasn’t working.

It wasn’t because they didn’t love each other. Julia had always felt that Ethan didn’t really belong to her. That she had him on loan and one day she’d have to give him back. That day was fast approaching.

There had been a suicide bombing in New Delhi a couple of months earlier. Three hundred people had died, many of them children. Ethan hadn’t been himself since. He’d been running down rumors of a new terrorist organization and this was the first big statement they’d made. He hadn’t been there to stop it. Ethan was taking it hard.

She’d been accepted at Georgetown for the first round of her residency, but she would decline. She could start over somewhere else. They’d had contingency plans in place almost since the beginning, if worst came to worst. She knew that Ethan would only enact them if there were a credible threat to her, specifically. But she wasn’t going to wait for that day. She was going to have to make the hard decision, before they destroyed their marriage through the sheer effort of trying to keep it together. She’d rather they did this because it was the right thing to do, rather than the only thing to do.

Ethan came home from work one summer evening. Julia had prepared dinner. She’d prepared a speech as well, about how they loved each other but she couldn’t go on knowing the world was less safe because she was keeping Ethan to herself. She got halfway through before he stopped her, hand up.

“This is what you want?” he said, his voice husky.

She nodded, firmly, but didn’t bother to hide her tears. “Yes. This is what I want.”

“Then…okay.”

It was fairly painless after that, logistically anyway. They put their house on the market. Julia put in notice at the hospital. The house sold and Ethan wired the money to a bank account only she had access to. He arranged for paper trails that twisted and turned and layered upon each other, obscuring the truth, creating a new version of reality.

“We’ll tell everyone you left me,” Ethan said, strangely matter-of-fact. Julia supposed it was him in mission-mode.

“Come one, why make me the bad guy?” Julia said, more to fill the silence than because she cared what people thought of her.

“Because no one would believe that I could leave you.” His mouth thinned into a line. “I’d have to be out of my mind to leave you,” he said. And then he started crying. They held each other, and Julia kissed away his tears.

“I want you to move on, you know,” he said. “I want you to—have kids, if you want.” They’d talked about this once, years ago, and then never again. Julia said she would die before giving any enemy of Ethan’s even more ammunition by having his child. Ethan hadn’t looked happy, but he’d accepted her position without argument.

She’d always thought she’d be a mother, but she was surprised by much freer she felt once she’d let go of that expectation. She didn’t need a child to feel fulfilled. She had her work. She helped people every day. She loved that—being useful, doing something hard that not everyone could do. Ethan had shown her how satisfying that could be.

“I’m going to be okay, Ethan. I’m not the only one who needs to move forward. You’re not done,” she said. “You’re not done and I need you to keep going.”

And then they went to Croatia.

***

2010
Croatia

They had a hotel suite in Dubrovnik overlooking the Adriatic. It was beautiful, but it was a prelude to the end. Like a reverse honeymoon. Every time they made love it was slow, as if Ethan was drawing it out, as if he was memorizing her. As if knowing that any time could be the last made him want to make each time last forever.

Luther arrived. He’d given her a crash course in getting lost and staying lost before they left Virginia, but he came to Croatia for her final exams, and to shepherd her on the first leg of her new life as a ghost. She was grateful for his solid, unemotional presence.

Then Luther disappeared for a while and the IMF security detail was brought in. They were pawns in an elaborate plan that Ethan had dreamed up and only a few living souls knew the extent of.

Julia was going to die very soon. The story about her leaving Ethan was a cover story for the cover story. Her family had only been told that she would be unavailable for a time, taking some time to recuperate after the end of her marriage. Ethan had told her he’d find a way for her to see them again, never as openly as she’d want to, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t worried about herself. She was worried for Ethan, for what his life would be like after they pulled this off. Because she had no doubt that this plan would work.

She’d die, yes, but she’d be given new life. She’d be starting over. Ethan, on the other hand, would be going back to his old life, a life that could easily collapse under the pain and the responsibility of compulsively needing to do the right thing. But Ethan was strong. And she could see he was ready to flex his muscles again, to use his prodigious strength of character to make the bad guys pay.

They’d been married for less than four years and it was time to say goodbye.

“I’m going for a run,” Ethan said, one sunny morning.

“Be safe,” Julia said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kissed her, hard, fast. And then he was gone.

***

Ethan was like the sun, distant but life-giving. Sometimes she’d look up and see the sun dazzling down on her, warming her from afar. It was enough for her, knowing he was out there. Watching over the world. He was the bravest, strongest person she knew. And he’d made her braver and stronger by loving her, by teaching her what it meant to do the right thing. She took strength knowing that they’d made the right decision. She was happy. She had moved on, literally, over and over. She only hoped that Ethan was moving on, too.

Chapter Text

2010
Virginia

Ethan closed the door to his modest Arlington hotel room, pocketing the key. He didn’t mind hotels, but he still wasn’t used to calling one home after four years living in comfortable domesticity. The home he’d shared with Julia was three miles and lifetime away. If he had any expectation that he’d be sticking around for any length of time he’d think about getting a place of his own. Maybe in the trendy apartment complex where Benji lived. Benji seemed to like it, particularly its proximity to the Metro and no less than six Thai restaurants.

He had a meeting scheduled later today with the Secretary that would make that decision for him.

He felt more than heard the buzz of gossip when he entered IMF headquarters for the first time in weeks and started making the rounds. The story about Julia leaving him had already been passed around and people were carefully not referencing it in their overly jocular greetings.

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Julia had left him. She had set him free, only for him to return like a boomerang to a life he’d once wanted to leave behind. But he hadn’t wanted it enough to make the world pay the price. And he didn’t want to ruin Julia’s chance for happiness because he was too selfish to let her go.

He’d planned her death, her rebirth, so carefully. He considered it his most important mission to date. It had taken months of preparation, of laying the necessary groundwork, from paperwork and new IDs to finding the body that would double for her. It had to be a clean break. Once he left to go for his routine five mile run, he wouldn’t see her again, maybe not ever.

To the outside world, she’d left him; in actuality, their marriage was over. It wasn’t as painful as a death, but it hurt just the same. It was as if their time together had been printed on brittle paper and when it had been truly tested, sacrificed on a funeral pyre, it had burned in seconds, purified to white ash and blown away on the wind.

For so long he hadn’t had time to think about much of anything besides pulling it off. But it had worked. And he’d come back a single man. Ethan Hunt was free as a bird and not having to act very much to play the part of a man whose marriage has come to an ignominious end.

Rita Ortiz, an ex-agent-turned-trainer caught up with him by the elevators on his way to the Secretary’s office. “Ethan, got a minute?”

“For you, always.” He smiled. Rita was hard as nails and the best trainer they had.

“I wanted to get your take on one of our trainees. I think you know him—Benjamin Dunn?”

“Benji?” Ethan was surprised, but what were the odds of there being two Benjamin Dunns working for the IMF?

“He’s a special case, and I want to make sure I’m doing the right thing.”

“I thought Benji was in Tech Services.”

“He is, that’s why he’s a special case. It took him twice as long to complete the field agent training program because he continued working full time in Tech Services and took the field courses on top of his regular workload. He got special permission to do it. I think he wanted to devote his entire schedule to training, but the higher ups didn’t want to lose him in Tech. Apparently he passes more data than anyone else in his unit by double.”

Ethan tried to wrap his mind around Benji completing a full Tech workload and field agent training on top of that and couldn’t. Field training required a combination of classroom time on things like forensics and linguistics, plus weapons and munitions training, tactical training, surveillance, and hand-to-hand combat. It was rigorous, designed to weed out the ones who’d wilt under pressure. Benji wasn’t exactly the poster-child for toughness. That was one of the things Ethan liked about him. Against his will, Ethan’s thoughts flashed back a decade and a half to another Tech in the field, who acted like missions were video games. His mind tended to stay away from memories of his first mission team. Especially memories of Jack. Jack hadn’t been a poster-child either. But he’d been a damn good agent.

Ethan swallowed against an unexpected lump in his throat. “So, uh, what’s the issue with Benji?”

“Well, he failed the field exam the first time he took it and I’m wondering if I should give him another shot. I know you’ve worked with him a bit and wanted your opinion, since you’ve been in my shoes.”

“What parts did he fail? Marksmanship? Hand-to-hand?”

Rita raised her eyebrows at Ethan’s guesses. “No, actually, his marksmanship is top-level. His hand-to-hand above average. He scored in the top 10% in everything else. But he failed his psych eval.”

The hits just kept coming. “On what grounds?”

“Dr. Klinger wouldn’t go into detail, but he appeared very nervous and upset before the test began. She thinks maybe he got some bad news before she administered the test and it skewed the results.”

Ethan wondered what could have been bothering Benji so much. He hadn’t seen the man in months. He’d been so preoccupied with Julia’s exit that he’d barely been in the office. He tried to remember the last time he and Benji had worked together and couldn’t.

“When was the test?”

“Two weeks ago. I haven’t told him the results yet. I thought if you agreed, we could let him try again with the next batch of trainees. He’s worked so hard.”

“And you think he’d make a good field agent?” Ethan tried to picture Benji in the field, but his mind wouldn’t cooperate. Ethan wasn’t sure he wanted to imagine him shooting a hostile target or getting in the way of an armed asset. Ethan had no doubt of Benji’s brilliance, but he could do what he did best right here from headquarters, safe and secure. Couldn’t he?

Rita paused. “He’s not the best marksman I’ve ever seen. He can’t run the fastest mile. He’s not the calmest under pressure. But he comes up with the most creative solutions to the most vexing problems. He doesn’t just think outside the box. He doesn’t see a box. And that’s the kind of agent we need in the field. Because you well know that no matter how good a plan can be, something unexpected always happens, and being able to handle the unexpected saves lives.”

“Wow. Okay.” Ethan blew out a breath. He was surprised by how much he wanted to tell Rita not to give Benji another chance, by how much he felt the need to keep Benji safe and out of harm’s way. But he knew it would be futile. He wanted to protect him, but he didn’t want to kill his spirit. He closed his eyes and hoped he was doing the right thing. “Give him another chance.”

Rita nodded briskly. “Done.” She hesitated and touched a hand lightly to Ethan’s elbow. “Sorry to hear about Julia.”

Ethan froze, his heart kicking painfully at the sound of her name. “Thanks.”

Rita gave him a close-lipped smile and walked away.

The Secretary saw him promptly at the designated time. It was just the two of them, though Ethan was certain there were other ears listening in.

“We need more information on Cobalt. We have credible intelligence that those with direct links to this madman are on the inside at Rankow Prison in Russia. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, would be to infiltrate the prison. From the inside. Obtain as much intelligence as you can. But don’t worry, we have an exit strategy worked up.”

“That’s a relief,” Ethan said dryly. “And what would I have to do to get inside of a place like Rankow?”

The Secretary cleared his throat. “We have obtained the names of six Serbian nationals who were recently seen in the vicinity of Dubrovnik, Croatia. These men are part of a ring of contract killers. Of course, the IMF cannot condone retaliatory violence against—”

“I’ll do it,” Ethan interrupted. “On the condition of the other matter.”

“Ah yes. The other matter.” The Secretary was the fourth person alive who knew that Julia had neither left Ethan nor died, after Ethan, Luther, and Julia herself. No one else was privy to her location. “Of course, the other matter has been taken care of.”

“Good.” Ethan didn’t relish spending an unspecified amount of time behind bars at one of the world’s most notorious prisons. But life without Julia stretched out interminably before him. He’d save on rent, at least.

Ethan also didn’t particularly relish killing six men in an “unsanctioned” hit. He knew they were bad guys, but he hadn’t gone to work for the IMF because he wanted to kill people. It happened, from time to time. But it was the worst part of his job. Then again, this is what Julia had asked him to do. She’d wanted him back out there, working to save the world. So that’s what he would do.

He shook the Secretary’s hand. His flight to Turkey didn’t leave for 36 hours. He had been given time to put his affairs in order. Since putting his affairs in order amounted to packing his single duffle bag of black t-shirts and checking out of his hotel, he figured he had some time to kill.

He found himself heading to the basement. Without stopping to think why he was doing it, he found Benji’s desk. The technician wasn’t there. Ethan felt the disappointment roll over him in a wave, but let it float by as unanalyzed as the impulse that had led him to stop by in the first place. Ethan loved a good plan. But intuition worked just as well in some situations.

His intuition led him to the sub-basement, where their gadgets and gear were tested. Benji was there, wearing goggles and a lab coat, bent over a mostly charred-looking laptop. Ethan eyed him critically from a distance. He looked…different. Ethan had noticed that Benji had slimmed down over the last couple of years. Ethan had noted the change and mentally shrugged. A technician spent so much time in a lab or hunched over a computer, he’d thought maybe Benji had started compensating by getting more active outside the office. But Ethan could see, now that he was really looking, that Benji’s physique was more toned than merely slim. His hands held tweezers and a magnifying glass and Ethan couldn’t help but notice the sensitivity with which Benji held the tools as he probed the fried laptop. He took in the glint of Benji’s eyes. They looked particularly blue in the eerie light of the clean area he was working in.

Ethan didn’t know what made him stop and commit this moment to memory. But then Benji looked up and made eye contact. Ethan blinked and forced himself to approach, while Benji nearly dropped his tools in response.

“Ethan! Hey! What are you doing here?”

Ethan ignored the question and asked one of his own. “Why didn’t you tell me? About training?”

“Oh, uh, I thought maybe you’d try to talk me out of it, I suppose.” Benji quirked his lips in a nervous smile.

“I would have.”

“Oh.” Benji frowned. Nodded. His eyes looked downcast and Ethan felt he’d messed up.

“But not because of your ability, Benji.”

“Then why?”

How could Ethan explain it when he didn’t fully understand himself? He huffed out a breath. “It’s complicated.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter because I failed the field exam anyway.” Benji looked rueful.

“How do you know? Or do I not want to know?” Ethan assumed hacking into IMF’s own network might have had something to do with it.

“Yeah…” Benji looked mildly guilty.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Ethan said. “If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen. And if not, not.”

“Right.”

“Hey. You want to grab some dinner? Later?”

“Do I want to grab some dinner? With you? Later?” Benji blinked behind his goggles.

“Yeah.”

“All right.”

Ethan locked eyes with the technician who held his gaze for two, three beats until Ethan said, “Dupont Circle, 7 o’clock.”

***

“In my house it was all Beatles, all the time,” Benji said over steaming plates of Thai noodles. “My parents had a fit when I started blasting punk in my bedroom in high school.”

“My parents were older. They liked big band music, the crooners. My dad’s favorite was Dean Martin.” Ethan grabbed a shrimp off of Benji’s plate when he wasn’t looking.

“Ah, Dino. Yeah, my parents were straight-up Beatlemaniacs. My older brother’s named Paul, for God’s sake.”

“But you went for punk. I’m trying to picture it.”

“Well, it was a phase, along with the earring and the studded collar.” Benji took a piece of chicken off of Ethan’s plate in retaliation for the stolen shrimp.

Ethan choked on his noodles. “Studded collar?” he got out after he got his breath back.

Benji laughed. “It’s an image, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is,” Ethan said. For some reason he couldn’t look Benji in the eyes. “And now what’s your current musical obsession?”

“You’ll laugh, but I’m kind of into opera.”

“Opera.” That was not what Ethan had been expecting to hear.

“Yeah, people in five pounds of makeup singing at the top of their lungs?”

“I’m aware of it,” Ethan said. “Can’t say I’m a fan, necessarily.”

“It’s just, well, very cathartic. Lots of drama and angst. It’s really just punk but with the vowels drawn out.”

Ethan laughed. He realized it was the first time he’d really laughed since Croatia. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Good Thai food,” Benji said during a lull in conversation. “I’m surprised I’ve never been here before.”

“I thought you’d like it,” Ethan said. He noticed that Benji’s ears turned pink whenever Ethan said something like that.

Benji’s reactions probably had something to do with hero worship. Ethan was a perceptive guy. He knew that Benji acted slightly differently around him than he did around other coworkers, even other field agents. They’d known each other for about five years, but though Ethan considered him a friend, Benji always seemed slightly on edge when he was around Ethan, like he could never fully relax. It frustrated Ethan sometimes. But maybe it would be good for Benji to keep that attitude in the field. He had to be able to trust his team, but never let his guard down.

“Hey, I’m probably not going to be around for a while,” he said, while they settled up the check. Ethan would have been happy to pay, but Benji insisted on splitting it.

“Okay,” Benji said. Then he said something that sounded like, “That’s more notice than I usually get,” but it was under his breath and Ethan wasn’t sure he was supposed to have heard, so he let it slide.

“I just wanted to say that, whatever happens, IMF is lucky to have you. Whether it’s in the field or not.”

“Thanks, Ethan.” Benji’s ears were pink again.

“Let’s go,” he said. On the sidewalk, Benji turned west in the direction of his apartment. Ethan could have caught a cab to get back to his hotel. Suddenly, he didn’t want to say goodbye. “Can I walk with you?”

“Uh, sure. I’m like a mile this way.”

“I could use the walk,” Ethan said. It was a fine night. Being out in the fresh air with Benji was better than contemplating the mission alone in his hotel room. There’d be plenty of time for all of that.

They walked and talked about new retinal technology that meant an agent could basically be wearing a computer over their iris and what the applications could be. Ethan felt lighter than he had in months. He was starting to think that Julia had been right, that he’d been trying too hard to make himself fit into the real world, when he really belonged with people like Benji—people who thought truth serums and retinal computers and voice replication technology were more interesting than, well, anything else.

It felt like barely any time had passed when Benji stopped in front of a well-lit street corner. Ethan looked around, momentarily confused, and then realized they were at Benji’s apartment building. “Yeah, so this is me,” Benji said, shuffling from foot to foot.

“Right. Good.” Ethan smiled. “Thanks for the company, Benji.”

Benji smiled back. “My pleasure, Ethan.”

Ethan wondered why it was taking him so long to say goodbye. Maybe it was because he’d felt more like himself tonight than he had in a long time and he was loathe to give that up. Maybe it was because what waited for him on the other side of his flight to Turkey was violence and sacrifice. Maybe it was because it had been a long time since he’d walked someone home after having dinner with them and some reptilian part of his brain was telling him the next step was to get invited up to…see what happened?

That last, unexpected train of thought snapped him out of it. He held out his hand, Benji shook it. “Take care, Benji.”

“You too, Ethan.”

And then he walked away without looking back.

Chapter Text

Benji
2011
Virginia

“Congratulations, Mr. Dunn. Or, let me say, Agent Dunn,” Rita Ortiz said. “You’re officially getting out of Tech and into the field.”

Benji shook her hand in a daze. She actually seemed happy that he’d passed the field exam. Benji supposed he was happy, too. A strange, hidden part of him wished Ethan were there to see it. He’d done it—five long years of planning and training and hard work—partly because he’d wanted to make Ethan proud.

Two days after passing the field exam he was on a plane to Amsterdam for his first mission. It went well—well, relatively well—and it had given him confidence that he could actually do this. In the quieter moments it was slowly sinking in that he’d upended his entire life. He was no longer Benjamin Dunn, computer nerd who hacked for a living. He was Benji Dunn, trained agent who still hacked for a living but who was also growing acquainted with the array of IMF safe houses (some squalid, some splendid, most in between), who often carried a gun, or two, and who was beginning to understand why agents complained the gear only worked as advertised half the time.

Even though he had no idea where Ethan was, Benji felt in some ways closer to him than he ever had. He knew what being a field agent was like now—the nerves, the fear, the elation when something went right. He hoped that wherever Ethan was, he was safe, that he was maybe even happy. There were always new rumors floating around whenever Benji landed back at headquarters: that Ethan had been placed on leave, that he’d been transferred to some far-flung CIA outpost. That he’d gone a little crazy after his wife had left him and the IMF couldn’t trust him with high profile missions.

Benji didn’t believe any of it.

He believed in Ethan Hunt. Full stop.

***

Ethan
2011
Russia

He had a lot of time to think in Rankow. When he accepted the mission, he hadn’t exactly pictured it lasting for six months. Maybe three. Four if things went poorly. But after the fifth month, he’d had to reassess his approach. He had to be ready for it to be a long haul. Not that five months in a Russian prison were a walk in the park. But he’d been busy enough, between asserting his place in the hierarchy to ferreting out useful information and contacts.

The days were all right—plenty of time to perfect his Russian, which had been pretty damn perfect to start with. But there were always new dialects to practice, new slang to assimilate. When he got bored, he practiced lip reading—always a good mental exercise. There were opportunities for physical exercise, too. He was, in fact, in excellent physical shape, particularly for a man in his mid forties. All right, no need for false modesty. He was in incredible shape for a man of any age. Staying fit and staying sharp were necessary for survival, and while the time inside sometimes felt endless, Ethan knew there’d be a day when he’d be outside and he’d have to hit the ground running. Hard.

The nights were a different story. Ethan had been blessed with a soldier’s ability to sleep anytime, anywhere. You never knew when you’d next get a chance to rest, so you had to take your opportunities as they came. But after a few weeks in Rankow, he’d started having trouble sleeping. There was too much time to think. He’d think about Julia, then worry about her, then tell himself to stop worrying because even if his communication with the outside world was limited, Luther was out there and he would take care of anything that came up. He’d try to sleep and he’d dream about her, and he’d physically roust himself out of his own dream because he didn’t want to dream about her. He’d lost the privilege to dream about her, to feel comforted by her smile, to be warmed by the memories they’d made in their time together. Maybe someday he’d be able to look back and remember without feeling such a great sense of loss, but not yet.

As his mind skittered away from Julia, he found himself thinking about others he’d lost over the years. There was Lindsay, sweet and strong. He still had nightmares about her sometimes, about how he’d been too late to save her. There was Nyah, beautiful and exciting, and Trouble with a capital T. And before her, there were Sarah, and Hannah, and Claire. And Jack.

He rarely thought about that Prague mission, the one that had made him the agent—no, the person—he was today. It hurt too much to contemplate the betrayal, the way he’d been played, the way he’d learned the hard way that you had to manipulate other people if you didn’t want to end up dead. Or, and here he had to laugh, if you didn’t want to end up in a jail cell. But not thinking about Prague also wasn’t fair to his team. He still felt he’d failed them. At least he could keep the memory of them alive, if only in his own mind.

And so he thought about that time, almost as a punishment. He’d been so young. So cocky and stupid. He’d thought every woman he met wanted to fuck him and every man on his team would have his back. He’d thought he was going to be James Bond. But real life wasn’t the slick glamour of a Bond movie. It was messy and cruel. He’d grown up fast, after Prague. He’d met Luther, and Luther had taught him what it meant to be part of a team, what it meant to be a real friend.

He dreamed. He dreamed about them all: Julia, Lindsay, Nyah, Sarah, Hannah, even Claire. And he woke up gulping for air. It became easier not to fall asleep. Or he’d sleep and then jerk himself awake when the dreams became too much.

One night he dreamed of Jack. But this dream didn’t feel like the others, full of guilt and pain. He dreamed of Jack’s smile, his wisecracks, how he’d seemed excited to be on a team with Ethan. He dreamed that Jack was angling for a date, but not with Sarah. With Ethan. And then Ethan jerked himself awake.

He was getting pretty good at that.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. What the hell had that been about? He and Jack had never—were never like that, with each other. It never would have occurred to him, honestly, to think about Jack as a possible romantic partner. It might have been the nineties, but he’d seriously never seen it as an option.

Why was all of this coming up now? Was it the fact that he was sequestered with five hundred men? Did the end of his marriage mean he’d never be able to look at another woman, so he was turning to fantasies about men who had been dead for fifteen years?

Or maybe it was he had the time and the headspace here in this dank Russian prison to give thoughts he’d had off and on his entire life some room to breathe.

Breathe. That’s what Ethan needed to do. He lay in his bunk, the endless gray of the prison encircling him. He breathed. In and out. And he forced himself, with ruthless discipline, to examine his very core. He’d spent years focused on what was outside of himself—the next mission, the next villain, the next IMF scandal, the next mountain to climb, the next plane to jump out of. It was easier to look outside and solve the problems of the world. He was better at that than looking inside himself.

But now…he let his mind float. He let himself view Ethan Hunt with no judgment, no preconceived notions.

Jack. Jack had been…a flirt. And Ethan had flirted with everyone in those days, including guys he wanted to like him. He’d wanted Jack to think he was cool, to think he belonged on the team. It hadn’t occurred to him to flirt with him for real—first of all, everyone knew that it was a bad idea to get involved with team members, even though people did it anyway. Second of all—Jack was a guy. And Ethan was straight.

Ethan let his mind drift farther back. College. The Army. Growing up on the farm. There had always been this unspoken, unchallenged assumption. Ethan Hunt was supposed to be a ladies man. And he didn’t disappoint. He loved women. He knew how strong they were. His mom ran the family and the farm practically single-handed. She had been amazing. Women were easy to love. It wasn’t something he had to analyze or question. And yet…weren’t there always people…men…who he felt connected to more than his regular Army buddies or college friends? Men he was drawn toward, with whom he tried a little harder to be funny, charming, effective? Men like Jack, who put a smile on his face and who he looked forward to working with every day. Men like…

There was something there, just out of reach. Ethan knew if he chased it, the farther away the thought would run. Instead, he breathed. In and out.

After Jack had died, so brutally, so needlessly, Ethan hadn’t been able to connect with anyone for a long while. He and Luther worked together occasionally, and that was good. That worked. Luther always knew how to get through to Ethan when other people couldn’t. Luther was a rock. But Ethan was essentially alone. Yeah, he got caught up with women like Nyah once in a while. But he was more likely to vacation by himself doing something that tested the limits of his endurance than longing for a stable relationship.

Fast forward the better part of a decade. The world had changed. Ethan had matured. His mother had passed away. There was nothing tethering him to the real world anymore. He’d been afraid of turning into something ugly if he was constantly on the move, constantly at the mercy of the next big bad guy’s evil plans. Julia had been an antidote to that, someone real and vital, someone who saw him and saw someone…good. Living up to her image of him had become important. Maybe he was still trying.

Ethan frowned. Here he was, back where he started. He was thinking about Julia, about his failed marriage, about the very real possibility of him existing in a world where he would always and forevermore be alone. He breathed. In and out. And gradually, he let himself fall asleep.

***

It’s a blindingly sunny day. Ethan can’t see anything for the sunlight, but he can see a figure up ahead, a man in profile, blocking out the sun. He can’t tell who it is until he gets closer, but he knows he has nothing to fear from the man. He feels a strange mixture of peace and excitement. He wants to see the man, wants to be near him. The man’s presence calms him even as his pulse quickens with the possibilities of the man’s proximity. Ethan walks toward him, and his shadowed face comes into the light. His blue eyes and smile are familiar, and yet it’s like Ethan is seeing him for the first time. Benji Dunn, pink ears, quick wit, technical wizardry. Ethan wants to laugh. He wants to take Benji’s hand and hold on, so that he won’t be alone anymore. He wants Benji to see him not as a hero, but as a man. He wants…he wants…he wants—

Ethan tore himself out of the dream, his chest heaving as he sat up, heart hammering. Breathe, he silently ordered himself. As the dream faded, Ethan was tempted to send his emergency signal to the IMF that he needed to be rescued from this place. He felt like he was going crazy. Why would he dream about Benji like that? Why would he wake up feeling as confused as a teenage boy who had his first—oh.

Ethan Hunt was a smart man. He could defuse a bomb. He could outthink a terrorist. He could read lips in five languages. But it seemed that he still had things to learn, particularly about himself. He was forty-five years old. He might have feelings for a coworker, one who on a generous day might call Ethan a friend. He was beginning to suspect that he wasn’t straight after all.

He thought back to the day he’d found Benji in the lab, and he’d made a mental snapshot of him in his goggles and lab coat. He brought out that image from time to time. It made him smile to remember Benji’s posture, his defiance over having hacked into IMF’s own system to get his exam results. He remembered the dinner after. It had almost been like a date. Except Ethan had been too much of an idiot to recognize that at the time.

His cheeks grew warm with a rare blush when he realized how much he wanted a second chance to go out to dinner with Benji and have it be a date for real. For Benji to know that Ethan had…feelings…about him. That Ethan was acting with intention toward him. In that dark, gray cell, that ever happening seemed like the least likely of outcomes. So Ethan supposed it wouldn’t hurt to think about it a little more. It’s not like it would ever happen. It’s not like Benji would ever feel the same way.

***

Benji
2011
Budapest

Budapest wasn’t Benji’s first mission, but it was the first time he’d lost a teammate. Hanaway had been an excellent agent—capable, organized, ruthless. His death had been a shock, and not just because it threw into relief how quickly a mission could turn tragic. It had also hurt to see Jane after.

He approached the scene too late to hear Hanaway’s final words to her, but her eyes afterward—it was as if a part of her had died along with him. They had never acted on their unspoken attraction, even though even Benji, not the world’s most socially acute person, could see how they felt about each other. And now it was too late.

It only brought into relief the choice he’d made by choosing the field over the safety of an office job. Yes, his impact would be larger, more immediate, He’d get to see the results of his efforts firsthand, he’d help save lives. But he was giving up a chance to have a meaningful relationship with another human being. A romantic one, anyway. If Ethan Hunt, Mr. Impossible Missions Made Possible, couldn’t keep a relationship going, what chance did Benji Dunn have?

Not that his love life had been that hot to begin with. Sure, he’d pulled more glances and more numbers after he’d started his training regimen. He’d even taken advantage of some of the offers. Who knew the gym was such a hot pick up spot? But the men he met at the gym actually liked working out, whereas he did it as a means to an end. He’d rather be home playing video games alone than make small talk with a gym rat with whom he had nothing in common.

There had been one guy—Justin. They hadn’t met at the gym, but at the British pub on Guy Fawkes Night last year. He’d been different—funny, just geeky enough not to make Benji feel self-conscious. He traveled for work, which made Benji feel less guilty about the late nights he often put in at the office. They saw each other when convenient, and not when it wasn’t. And then the morning of the field exam psych, Justin had texted. Sorry, it’s over. I met someone else. Benji had been dumped! By text! Not five minutes later, Jenny, the new girl in Tech had dropped by his desk and proceeded to tell him that she’d just heard that Ethan Hunt’s wife had left him and they were going through a quiet divorce and that’s why he’d been MIA for awhile. Benji had tersely replied that she ought to mind her own business and gone to the rooftop helipad, feeling like he was suffocating the entire elevator ride up.

He rubbed his chest and consciously pulled in air, then pushed it out again. He might have been having a panic attack. Justin had dropped him like their months together meant nothing. Ethan and Julia, that golden couple, were over. Benji was fooling himself if he thought that he could make it in the field. This dream of his was ridiculous. He belonged behind a computer, not running around with a gun and a mask.

He stood there on the slab of concrete, feeling more alone than he ever had before. And he yearned, with irrational longing, to see Ethan. Ethan owed him nothing, but he’d always been there to steady Benji, to make him feel like he was part of something larger than himself. Benji needed to feel that. He needed to be useful. He needed to be needed. He wanted Ethan to need him. He didn’t dare want Ethan to want him. Needing was enough. And he thought that maybe if what Jenny had said was true, and Ethan was hurting, that Benji could make him feel just a little bit better.

By the time he made it downstairs for the psych eval, his concentration was shot and he jumped at every trick question they threw at him. Maybe he sabotaged himself because he knew he didn’t belong in the field. Maybe he didn’t want it enough. Maybe he didn’t want to be responsible for his teammate’s lives. Maybe he didn’t want to let Ethan down by fucking this up, too.

Finding out he’d failed the test hadn’t been as depressing at Benji had pictured. It was only a years’ long dream come to nothing. But Ethan’s marriage had ended. Benji was oddly more upset about that than failing the exam. When he’d next seen Ethan, Ethan had seemed…quiet. A little lost. Benji had wanted to say something about Julia, about how he’d wanted them to work out. But Ethan had seemed to need Benji to just be there. As a distraction. As a friend, maybe. And it had felt incredible to actually feel what it was like to have Ethan need him, even if only for an evening.

Saying goodbye to him that night had been hard. But after, Benji had emailed his training supervisor and requested another exam date. Ethan hadn’t exactly been thrilled at the prospect of Benji in the field, but Benji knew what he was capable of, even if Ethan didn’t. He couldn’t let Ethan down. He wouldn’t let himself down, either.

***

“Congratulations, Mr. Dunn. Or, let me say, Agent Dunn,” Rita Ortiz said. “You’re officially getting out of Tech and into the field.”

After hearing that he’d passed, Benji accepted the hearty congratulations of his colleagues, the pats on the back and the invitations for drinks. He nodded and smiled and tried not to wish that Ethan were there. Later, he escaped to the roof. He stood on the helicopter pad and he felt the sun warm him. He felt his breath steady and his heart calm. If Ethan was the sun, that meant even if he was far away Benji only had to feel the warmth of its rays to know that Ethan was out there, looking after him, keeping the world turning.

He breathed in the sun-warmed air and felt at peace.

Chapter Text

Benji
2011
Rankow Prison Adjacent

Benji went over the plan one more time in his head, just to be sure. Jane was already on her way. They’d gone over and over the mission together and Benji knew every step either one of them would make for the next thirty minutes by heart. They couldn’t afford to mess up, not after Budapest. Jane had been on edge, but she was holding up pretty well. There hadn’t been time to bring in another agent, so this rescue mission was up to the two of them.

He checked the prison schematics for a fourth, unnecessary time.

“Stop worrying,” Jane said over the comm.

“What do you mean?”

“I can hear you worrying from this delightful sewer. Relax. You’ve got this.” Jane was a great leader. She was deadly but she wouldn’t ask anything of you she didn’t know you could deliver.

Benji couldn’t tell her he wasn’t worried about the mission, exactly. He was worried about the target of their rescue. He had been on edge since the moment they’d gotten orders to extract one Ethan Matthew Hunt from the infamous Rankow Prison on the outskirts of Moscow. Benji had wondered what Ethan had been up to in the months since he’d last seen him, but locked up in prison had not been among the scenarios he’d considered. His mind immediately went to a dark place where he was imagining Ethan much the worse for wear from being confined in such a way. Then he told himself he was overreacting and if Ethan Hunt was in prison, it was because he wanted to be. Not to mention he, of all people, could handle himself, even among hardened criminals.

So then Benji had considered what would happen if he messed up a mission involving Ethan. He’d never live it down. His career as a field agent would be over almost as soon as it began. Ethan might never forgive him. When Benji finally decided that he wasn’t going to screw it up, his mind went to the next stage of self-doubt, which involved worrying about Ethan’s reaction when he saw that Benji had actually made it to the field.

“Stop. Worrying.”

“Uh, right. Check. Will do.” Benji said. He rolled his shoulders, opened his laptop, and put his game face on.

“Begin Phase One,” Jane said.

Benji went to work. He smiled when the first prisoner took the bait and edged cautiously out of his cell. This was going to work. He winced at the violence being inflicted on the guards, though he’d heard enough about the appalling way the prison was run not to have too much sympathy for them. Then came Phase Two. He pressed a key and Dean Martin’s voice flooded the prison’s PA system. He couldn’t help a little grin. He trusted that Ethan would get the reference and realize the extraction protocol he’d been briefed on once upon a time was being implemented. Moments later, he caught his first visual of Ethan as he elegantly launched himself over a railing and onto Benji’s monitor. All that Ethan needed to do now was get to the extraction point and Jane would take it from there.

But Ethan didn’t head for the door that Benji had helpfully opened for him. Instead he turned around slowly. Benji opened his mouth on a silent gasp. He’d forgotten how beautiful the angles of Ethan’s face were. His hair was long. Benji couldn’t decide if he liked it or not. Maybe it was too much of a good thing. Focus, Benji. And then Ethan started walking in the opposite direction he should have and Benji got his first taste of what working with Ethan Hunt was really like.

He knew that Ethan didn’t know it was Benji throwing the switches in the van, but it still felt like Ethan could see him as they had a mini-standoff over protocol. Benji held out for as long as he could, but he had a feeling that his opening the wrong door for Ethan was just the beginning of a pattern. Actually, that pattern had started years earlier, on a rooftop in Shanghai, when Benji had seriously been a bit afraid of losing his visa over helping someone on Interpol’s most wanted list.

At least he’d become a full-fledged U.S. citizen in the meantime.

Benji followed Ethan through the prison, coping as best he could with the change of plans. It was both nerve-racking and kind of balletic the way Ethan moved through the sea of people, intent on his goal, while Benji intuited his next move and was ready to open and shut the doors at the exact right moment, all while Dean Martin crooned about falling violently in love.

He drew his first full breath in what felt like an hour when Jane radioed for him to meet them at the pickup point three blocks away. He threw the van into drive and ordered himself to treat Ethan normally when he saw him. Nothing had to be weird. Ethan never had to know that Benji thought he was unutterably handsome or that he admired the hell out of his stubborn streak. None of that was relevant. What was relevant was the mission and Benji would execute his missions to the best of his ability. He absolutely would not let his useless crush get in the way. Ever.

***

Ethan
2011
Moscow

“Benji, how is it you’re here?”

“Oh, I passed the field exam. Crazy, right?” Benji said proudly.

Yeah, crazy.

Benji Dunn was a field agent. He’d broken Ethan out of a high security prison like it was another day at the office.

Ethan found Benji’s competence incredibly sexy.

Fuck.

He’d been in prison too long. He was starved for any human contact. It was just Benji’s smile, and cheeky winks, and irreverent attitude, and bravery and—Ethan honed back in on Agent Carter’s monologue. Hanaway, an agent he had liked and respected, was dead, and a set of Russian nuclear launch codes was in the wind.

Yep, another day at the office. And it looked like he’d be working with Benji to fix this mess.

Ain’t that a kick in the head?

Chapter Text

Benji
The Kremlin

Be cool, Benji. Be cool. You’re only on a mission to break into one of the most highly secured buildings in the world with Ethan Hunt. No biggie.

Okay, so you freaked out a little and sort of word-vomited all over him when you told him that being in the field with him was a dream come true and that you loved his disguise and you were a mask virgin and then after making it through the checkpoint you still couldn’t stop talking but everything is fine. Everything is going to plan. Everything--

Benji felt Ethan’s hand on his shoulder. The familiar gesture steadied him, as it always did. He made an effort to relax. They could do this. And yet, Benji seriously couldn’t get his mouth to stop moving.

“I’m sorry, by the way, about you and Julia.” Jesus, Benji, not the time. “You know, not working out.” He should have said this months ago, at the dinner which had been surreal and wonderful and which would have been a much more appropriate venue to bring this up. “I liked her, you know.” Not that Ethan gives a fuck what I thought of his ex-wife.

Game face. Kremlin game face.

Benji followed Ethan’s lead as they moved into position. Just a minute more and Ethan would be able to access the archive room. Benji stood up in front of the camera and a split second too late realized his mistake, but by then Ethan had already pushed him out of the way and was holding onto him with an iron grip so he wouldn’t betray them by tumbling to the floor. For five agonizingly long beats they froze, the warmth of Ethan’s hand seeping through Benji’s uniform. He could wallow in humiliation over his gaffe later. For now, he’d do his job, otherwise they’d both end up back inside a Russian prison and there would be no IMF team coming to break them out.

Ethan was inside the archive room and Benji was ever so slightly starting to relax again when it all went to hell. Ethan called “Abort” and designated the rendezvous. And then they separated. Benji stuck to the plan, even though he’d have liked to stay with Ethan. He felt safer with him nearby. Dumber, but safer. He liked knowing Ethan was there to keep an eye on him. He liked being able to keep an eye on Ethan, too. The last time they’d parted he hadn’t seen him for six months. But he stuck to the plan.

He was on the other side of the Kremlin complex, heading toward the rendezvous, when he heard the explosion. He was rattled. His comm had long been rendered useless, so he couldn’t check in with Ethan, or Jane. But he stuck to the plan.

An hour later he arrived at the rendezvous point. Jane was there.

Ethan was not.

Benji swallowed heavily. They had orders to pack up their gear and move locations, this time to a moving safe house, a train car heading west. If Ethan wasn’t on board when the train started moving, they’d be leaving him behind. If he wasn’t already dead in a blast that had likely killed hundreds.

Benji refused to think about that possibility, about the fact that Ethan could be injured, or captured, and that Benji wasn’t doing a thing about it. He knew Ethan could take care of himself. Benji just felt better about their chances when they were in this together.

He exchanged a nod with Jane and started packing. He’d stick to the plan.

***

Ethan
The Kremlin

Ethan was tense. He was in so much trouble. Not only did he have to plausibly impersonate a Russian general and pull off a complicated mission, he had to do it with Benji being freaking adorable right by his side. Normally, Ethan could control his nerves, but he felt the weight of responsibility for getting Benji through this safely on top of his usual responsibility to stop terrorists bent on acquiring nuclear weapons. It was a lot of shit to deal with.

And it was distracting to have Benji whispering in his ear, talking about the mission, and masks, and…Julia? Wait, was he seriously bringing up Julia right now? Ethan made a mental note to talk to Benji about mission etiquette. Bringing up your teammate’s ex-wife in the middle of a delicate op just wasn’t done. Still, Ethan couldn’t help but be touched by Benji’s earnestness. Julia had always liked Benji, too.

All that would keep. Right now they had a very serious job to do. And Ethan was a serious agent, even if Benji’s chatter made him want to smile, just a little. He would not smile. He would execute the mission, they would stop this terrorist, and then…then…well, he had no idea what he would do about Benji then, but he’d think of something.

The op was going according to plan one moment, and the next moment everything went south. He called “Abort” and though it pained him to split up from Benji, he had to trust in the other man’s training and instincts to get him out of there safely. It would be better for Benji to escape on his own, just in case something else happened.

Once outside, Ethan’s hackles were immediately raised when he saw a familiar figure with a briefcase striding away. Why was that man in such a hurry? He was completely focused on following the target when the sounds of an explosion came rippling toward him. As he began running, his last thought before a gas explosion propelled him against something hard was he hoped Benji was well clear of the blast zone.

***

Ethan came to slowly. His head hurt like hell, and he felt like one big bruise. It took him a minute to remember what had happened. When he saw the news footage, he closed his eyes in defeat. He’d failed. He hadn’t known that the enemy had been planning a massive bombing, but maybe he could have done something to stop it if he had known. Now innocent people were dead, and Ethan had let the bad guy get away.

His eyes flew open again. Benji. Ethan fervently hoped that his friend had cleared the area safely. Agent Carter, too, though she’d likely been well clear of the danger zone. If anything had happened to Benji…Ethan frowned, and the motion caused a bolt of pain to slice through his brain. He relaxed his brow. He couldn’t do anything while handcuffed to a hospital bed. He had a concussion. Not great, but it could have been a lot worse. He’d always been lucky that way. He glanced down. He was shoeless, and the explosion appeared to have blown off his shirt as well. Huh. What were the odds?

Okay, he was a little woozy.

He had to get out of here, warn headquarters about his suspicions, find Benji and Carter, and they’d fix this. He always fixed his mistakes. Benji being along for the ride might make things slightly more complicated, but at least they’d be more fun. Ethan didn’t want to listen to the part of him that was whispering they’d also be more dangerous. Dangerous for Benji’s well-being. Dangerous for Ethan’s heart. He was an IMF field agent. He lived for dangerous. Bring it on.

***

Benji
A Train Car Outside of Moscow

Benji’s relief at seeing Ethan alive was closely followed by consternation. The Secretary was dead. They’d all been disavowed due to something ominously called Ghost Protocol. And they’d picked up another traveller, one William Brandt, so-called chief analyst. Benji tried to tamp down any jealousy he felt at now having to share Ethan’s attentions with Brandt. Jane didn’t count, for some reason. But Brandt was young and fit and Benji wasn’t above a little childish envy.

However, they had more important things to deal with. Benji tried to keep his mind on the monumental series of tasks facing them and off of Ethan, but it wasn’t easy. Ethan roamed the tiny train car like a panther on the prowl for the smartest way to solve their dilemma. He was brilliant to watch as he outlined what they’d have to do to pull this off. The older man was lithe and fit and seemingly not at all affected by being rendered unconscious by an explosion, jumping from a fourth-floor window, and nearly being shot, drowned, and then exposed to hypothermia. In fact, all of that seemed to make Ethan more vital, more full of a pent-up energy that he was ready to take out on Cobalt—now known to be Hendricks—and anyone who stood in the way of Ethan getting to him.

Jane had been in the field much longer than Benji, but even she seemed taken aback at Ethan’s intensity. Benji thought he should have been used to it by now. He’d known Ethan for five years and he’d spent a fair amount of time with him. But it was different when they were in the office back home. Out here, in the real world, Ethan was a different beast. He was ruthless, creative, willing to do anything it took.

As they assembled their gear and made their way to Dubai, Benji alternated feeling singularly under-equipped to handle the stress of the situation, and feeling like he’d absolutely made the best decision of his life by becoming a field agent. This is what he’d hoped it would be like, him getting to use his (not inconsiderable) abilities to help Ethan his team where it mattered most. Even if he died tomorrow (a not insignificant possibility) he’d be happy knowing he’d had the courage to put himself on the line in order to be of the greatest possible service to, well, the world. Because that’s what they did, didn’t they? They saved the world, one borderline crazy operation at a time.

Between Russia and Dubai they caught some sleep, made their way through protein-heavy rations, and performed costume changes so by the time they were barreling down a desert highway they all looked the part of American tourists. It was even a little bit fun to raz Brandt a little—Benji enjoyed not feeling like the new kid on the block, even if he didn’t entirely trust the newcomer yet. And Ethan, despite the risks they were taking, seemed in his element. Relaxed, even. Perhaps it was because they were taking risks that he seemed so…happy. Whatever the reason, Benji soaked up his presence, just as real and warm as the hot desert sun.

***

The clock was ticking down; time to get serious. Benji ran into his first roadblock with the server access, but all it would take would be Ethan approaching from the outside. He was far from certain that he wasn’t sending Ethan to his death, but he had a feeling that Ethan could do this. He’d learned this from Ethan: believing he could do something was 90% of the challenge. If he believed it, he could do it. So Benji believed it for him, and they both went to work. And he almost had the balls to pat Ethan on the shoulder, just as Ethan had done for him, time and again, but no matter. Ethan had this.

30 literally nail-biting minutes later, Ethan was back and the play was in full swing. Benji had always loved dressing up and amateur dramatics. That was definitely getting a workout today, even if the mask opportunity had sadly evaporated. He intended to have some strong words for the mask department the next time he saw them. Clogged paint nozzles, indeed. They’d probably blame it on the dry dessert air or some such nonsense, but it was completely unacceptable. The entire op could have been ruined by that one error! Gear woes aside, it was thrilling to work with their small team of four, making the trade, getting the timing exactly right. It was almost an out-of-body experience, where he was watching everything from a little control room in his mind, while his body executed every step of the plan like clockwork.

And it almost worked. Benji had heard somewhere that no plan survives first encounter with the enemy—and it was true. Suddenly, Ethan was literally running after the codes and Wistram, Jane had Moreau at gunpoint, and Will had found Leonid. When Jane gave Benji the gun to hold on Moreau, he felt the fury vibrating off her, felt how much self-control she was using not to get her revenge on the assassin right then. Okay, so he’d never actually shot at anybody before, much less killed them. He held the gun on the blonde, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. But she was much more ruthless than he, and he knew, a split-second before she moved, that she knew he wasn’t going to shoot. He didn’t have that killer instinct. And maybe one of these days it would get him killed. Maybe even today.

***

It was easy to point fingers when it was all over, harder to face Ethan, who’d looked so banged up and defeated when he’d met them at the safe house, covered from head to foot in gritty sand. He’d gulped down a liter of water and then sequestered himself in the small kitchen. Benji felt wretched, like they’d let him down, even though at the time it had seemed like they had done all they could.

But he underestimated how personally Ethan took each and every mission. He didn’t blame the three of them; he blamed himself. He took the weight of their collective failure on his shoulders. And now they had to find another avenue to get to Hendricks.

Benji was brainstorming ideas, tuning out Will and Jane’s bickering, when Ethan walked back into the room, cleaned up, dressed for the arid weather. He watched as Ethan pulled a gun on Will, who, despite his tendency to be a worrywart, was sort of growing on Benji.

“Well, we all have our secrets,” Will said a bit cryptically, even for him.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” Ethan replied. Benji couldn’t help but wonder how many exactly how many secrets Ethan had, exactly how deep they went. However, it seemed it wasn’t Ethan’s day to tell secrets, but Will’s, for as soon as Ethan left Will located a bottle of whisky and started to spill. The man was a wreck. Maybe Ethan wasn’t the only one who felt the weight of the world on his back.

But when Will got to the part of his sad story where Julia Meade-Hunt had met her death at the hand of a Serbian hit squad in Croatia, Benji had to protest.

“No, that's--that’s not what happened.” He glanced sideways at Jane for confirmation. “She left him.”

Hadn’t she?

He tried to process this new data. Tried to imagine beautiful, warm, good Julia murdered. His brain wouldn’t accept it. Julia had been an innocent. And Ethan wouldn’t have let her die. He didn’t accept it. Will must have been wrong. Because Ethan wouldn’t let Julia meet an end like that, not while he went on a fucking run.

He saw it was hopeless to try to convince Will. Jane didn’t know Ethan the way Benji did, either. He swallowed the words of protest that wanted to come shooting out his throat. She can’t be dead. Because if she is, that means Ethan failed the woman he loved. And Ethan wouldn’t do that.

He fought against a rising sense of unease. If Will was right and Julia was dead, Benji’s belief in Ethan as an infallible miracle-worker might be a tad misguided. It would mean that Ethan wasn’t…well, he wasn’t the sun. He was only a man. An imperfect one at that.

Benji thought about how he’d bought the rumor about Julia leaving Ethan. He’d been upset that they couldn’t make it, but on the other hand it had sort of seemed inevitable. Ethan led a very unconventional life. The idea that she might have met a violent end almost made more sense. Who would voluntarily leave Ethan Hunt? Benji had never done it. It might be the hardest thing to do in the world. It might even be impossible. Would Julia have done it, willingly?

Perhaps if it was the only way to keep Ethan safe. Benji could imagine it then, sacrificing being with him if it kept him safe and whole. Benji would do it, if that’s what it took.

He tried all afternoon to reconcile this new information, this new perspective he had on Ethan. Ethan wasn’t a divorcee. He was a widower. The love of his life had been taken from him. He’d killed six men in retaliation. And then he’d spent six months in a Russian prison, alone.

Benji’s heart broke, for his friend, for a man he admired very much. What that must have been like? How much had it hurt him? No wonder he’d seemed a bit out of it that night they’d gotten Thai food in D.C. No wonder his already intense demeanor had seemed even more focused, even more finely honed.

Ethan was out there even now, trying to make something work, trying to save the world while the three of them sat in the dark, waiting for someone to take them home. Benji pushed back from the table, started gathering their gear, cleaning it, packing it swiftly, carefully. He would be ready to help, when Ethan asked for it. He took special care to with his gun. He would have liked to have some time for target practice, but instead he just carefully disassembled the piece, cleaned and oiled it, and reassembled it. He could have done it blindfolded. He had, more than once, in training. He needed to be prepared to use it, really prepared. No hesitation, as he’d had in the hotel. Lives depended on him being willing to pull the trigger.

When they got the call, Benji wasn’t surprised. He simply gathered the bags, loaded them into the jeep. Ethan had called and Benji was ready to answer. He put everything Will had told him out of his mind. It didn’t matter, not while there was a madman on the loose with nuclear capabilities. He didn’t know the truth, and he wasn’t going to ask Ethan. Not today, anyway. It was just a relief to see Ethan standing by a plane, eager to continue the chase, to see this thing through to the end.

“Love the jet,” he said as he passed Ethan. Maybe things were going to be okay.

“Wait ‘til you see the car.” The smile in Ethan’s voice eased the ache in Benji’s chest, just a little.

Chapter Text

Ethan
In a Jet Heading to Mumbai, India

It felt good to have an objective again. They were flying toward the final act of this particular drama, and Ethan needed everything to go well. That meant getting his team on board—without them, he couldn’t make this work. They all had to believe they could do this.

He tackled Jane first. She was the one most obviously struggling with what had happened in Dubai. Killing Moreau had not made her feel better. It never did.

“She took someone you cared about,” he said softly. He’d known Hanaway fairly well. He’d been a good man. Ethan could imagine that it would be easy for two agents like Carter and Hanaway to fall for each other. But it was clear that they’d never acted on their feelings and that was what would have stung Jane most of all. The regret.

Ethan imagined it was something like what he’d finally recognized about his friendship with Jack. Regret that theirs had been a short, ill-fated time together. But it wasn’t always so simple as meeting someone, falling for them, being with them. That’s what he had done with Julia and it hadn’t been simple at all. And now he was dealing with an entirely different situation with Benji. He hadn’t had a moment to process his confusing, distracting feelings toward Benji, but he knew they were there. He was doing his best to tamp them down, shove them really deep inside where they could only be accessed by ten different combination locks. He had to be able to focus on the mission at hand. His—and his mind recoiled at the word but it seemed to be the most fitting one—crush would have to wait.

He thought he was getting through to Jane and then she said something surprising.

“Did it make you feel better? When you killed the men who killed your wife?”

How did she know to ask that question? Had the cover for the cover finally disintegrated? Was Brandt somehow involved in this? Above all he wondered, if Jane thought Julia was dead, what did Benji believe?

Two days ago he’d seemed to be referring to Julia’s leaving him. But maybe Ethan had interpreted that wrong. Maybe Benji had meant I’m sorry for your loss. Lying to Benji about Julia—it had to be done, but it left a sour taste in Ethan’s mouth.

“We can’t get them back,” he said to Jane. Julia was never going to be his again. But at least he knew she was alive and well. He’d gotten an encrypted message from Luther just that morning that had been his first hard evidence in months that their plan was actually working. Jane had no such comfort. Her love had died in her arms and not only had she been too late to stop it, she’d been too late to tell him how she really felt.

Perhaps waiting to deal with his feelings for Benji was a mistake. He glanced back to where Benji and Brandt were going over the plan for hacking into the central server. He seemed completely at ease talking to Brandt, even joking with him. Ethan felt a wave of irrational jealousy. Brandt was kind of a pill, but he was young, and capable, and he and Benji seemed to get along. That was a good thing, Ethan reminded himself. There was no reason to want to interrupt their conversation, to go over the plan with Benji himself, just to get to talk to him, to have his blue eyes directed at Ethan, rather than Brandt.

Ethan shook his head. He was being ridiculous. And he needed to get these feelings locked down before they became a problem during the mission. He sighed and walked to the opposite end of the jet from Benji. No matter how far he got, though, Benji always seemed to be on his mind.

***

Benji
Mumbai

"I'm here Ethan," Benji cried. Brandt was driving the van while Benji tried to work a miracle on the computer, but there was nothing he could do to stop Hendricks from launching that missile.

He could do little more than keep Ethan apprised of the timeline as they both hurtled toward Hendricks' location. His heart was in his throat the entire time, and when he saw that the worst had happened, his couldn't help the sorrow seep into his voice.

"Ethan. We're too late. The missile's in the air." He felt cold, and helpless, and like he'd failed Ethan—again.

But then Ethan's voice came strong and resolute over his comm. "There has to be a way to abort the warhead." It wasn't over yet. Ethan never gave up, and Benji wouldn't either.

Ethan and Jane were both absent from the abandoned BMW outside the television station but it wasn't hard to follow the sound of gunshots and locate Jane and the relay. Benji trusted Ethan to get the case. The three of them had to do their part.

He rushed to repair the hastily torn-apart relay, his fingers shredded to a bloody, pulpy mess by the sharp wires as he spliced them frantically together. He couldn't spare a thought for Jane, possibly bleeding out right next to him, or for Brandt, going in blind against a dangerous opponent. He didn't imagine what Ethan was going through to get the case. He simply worked, doing what only he could, until the moment when, suddenly, it was done. But the bloody power wasn't back on.

"He's been gone too long." He had a bad feeling about Brandt and Wistram. Jane could handle the drives. Benji moved as quickly as he could down the maze of hallways. He heard a cry from around the corner, raised his gun. It felt slightly slippery in his bloody hands, but he was strangely calm. Between one heartbeat and the next, he pulled the trigger. Wistram went down, the power went on, and he and Brandt rushed back to Jane, where she'd sagged, in relief and in pain, against the relay after having pushed in the two drives.

"Did we make it?" Jane asked weakly, while Brandt took a closer look at Jane's wound. Benji smiled tightly. Ethan was likely out of communication range. There was no way of knowing if he'd gotten to the case in time until Benji got back to the van and accessed the satellite. But Benji had no doubt that Ethan had. Ethan would always come through. He never let his team—or the world—down.

***

Benji
8 Weeks Later
Seattle

It's dark. The power is still out. Benji can't see what he's doing. He knows he has to fix the relay, but it's pitch black. How can he see which wires go where when it's so dark? He had a flashlight, but it's gone. All the light is gone, and Benji is alone, and he's not able to fix the relay and Ethan will get the case and try to stop the warhead but the codes won't work because Benji can't see. The bomb will go off and millions of people will die, and Ethan will hate Benji forever. Because Benji failed. His fingers are slick with blood as he tries to fix it, blindly. He stumbles on, until he realizes the reason he can't see isn't because the power is out. It's because his eyes are covered in wet, sticky blood. His hands are covered in it. The blood of all those millions is on his hands and he failed them, he failed Ethan—

Benji woke up in a cold sweat, again.

***

The debriefing period on the Hendricks mission had been abnormally long. Benji didn't have that much experience with the post-mission let-down, but this one seemed especially protracted because of the fact that the entire fucking IMF had been disavowed as part of it, and Russia and the U.S. were still figuring out that they hadn't actually tried to start a nuclear war between them.

Benji had assumed that once everything was out in the open, he'd be allowed to work on the clean-up, but he had been sent home, pending an internal investigation of their actions. Honestly, he wasn't overly worried. They had saved the world from nuclear war, after all. Plus, Will was on his side. Will straddled the world of field agent and the top brass—he knew the right things to say to the right people. Will was all right, even if he was a bit melodramatic at times. Benji knew it would only be a matter of when, not if, he'd be back in the mix at the IMF.

He was fairly certain that to be back in the field was what he wanted. Yeah, there was the matter of the nightmares and the cold sweats and the little knot of stress that never seemed to leave the pit of his stomach no matter how many breathing exercises or mugs of chamomile tea he sipped. His therapist had diagnosed it as a mild form of PTSD. Very common for field agents, especially ones who had just killed for the first time in the line of duty. But not debilitating. In fact, Benji was pretty good at coping, at not letting the outside world see. The only time it fully eased off was when he was…well, when he was with Ethan. Even though that didn't make any sense. Ethan was admittedly the cause of a lot of Benji's stress, but his presence seemed to neutralize it somehow. Benji couldn't explain it. It just was.

But he hadn't seen Ethan much since Mumbai. In fact, the three of them had ended up at a different hospital from Ethan, who had been rushed into surgery to repair the damage done to his knee by Hendricks. Not to mention the concussion and minor internal bleeding caused by him doing a vertical leap in a car. After Benji's fingers had been bandaged and he'd been declared fit for release, he'd managed to snag a free hour and visit Ethan in hospital. He was under guard, of course, and his leg was immobilized. But his color was good, his eyes clear. And he'd smiled, wide and genuine when Benji had poked his head around the door.

He hadn't stayed long. Just long enough to prove to himself that Ethan was going to be okay, that he didn't hate him even though they'd almost let the world blow up.

"You did good, Benji," Ethan said.

"Yeah, well. So did you," he said, unnecessarily.

But Ethan had smiled. "I couldn't have done it without you."

And that was it—that was why Benji had put himself through all of this. Because that's what he'd wanted. He wanted to help Ethan do what he did best. And he had. His shoulders straightened, and he couldn't keep a little grin off his face.

Then a nurse had come in and Benji had said a hurried goodbye. It physically hurt to leave that room, knowing it could be ages before he saw Ethan again. But that was the job. And he'd take what he could get.

So when he got the summons to travel to Seattle for a meeting with Ethan himself, Benji hadn't had to think twice. They were all there—him, Jane, Will, ready for a command performance before their leader. Benji was a little nervous—he didn't think Ethan would bring them all across the country to fire them, but you never knew.

The night was chilly and damp, but Benji only felt the warmth emanating off of Ethan and his still too-long hair. Okay, so Luther pretended that they hadn't met, even though they had worked together half a dozen times since Benji had join the IMF, but that was okay. Luther had always been one of the cool agents, while Benji had been a dorky one. The IMF was like high school sometimes. Benji was the dork. Jane was the jock. Ethan was the homecoming king. The one everyone either wanted to be, or wanted to be with.

When Ethan dropped three phones down on the table in front of them, for a second, Benji felt like he was finally one of the cool kids. That he belonged. He'd found his people, lunatics who were willing to go to sometimes laughable extremes to do the right thing. Ethan Hunt was the ringleader, and the worst offender. And Benji didn't want to be anywhere else but by his side. It was easy to pick up the phone, to shake Ethan's hand. It felt like graduating to the field all over again. It felt like acceptance.

Ethan's hand was dry and warm and his shake firm. It seemed the Benji had passed some sort of a test, because Ethan's eyes had lost the ambivalence they'd had when he had first found out Benji was trying to get into the field, and when he'd shown up driving a van around the streets of Moscow. Maybe Ethan thought that Benji belonged in the field now, too.

Benji was Pluto, just as he'd thought. And Ethan had been demoted a bit, to Jupiter. The largest planet. The most mysterious one. But Jupiter was a lot closer to Pluto than the sun was. Benji walked into the night, alone, but not feeling quite so lonely anymore.

***

Ethan
Seattle

When Ethan had conceived the plan to liberate Julia, as it were, from their marriage and the danger he'd put her in, he hadn't spared much thought for the collateral damage their plan would inspire. But clearly, William Brandt had suffered because of Ethan's machinations. On the one hand, Ethan knew every plan came with risks and collateral damage and he would put Julia's life above Will's any day of the week. He had to. On the other hand, Will was a good guy. Another agent wouldn't have taken the situation so personally, let it affect him so much. And that's what made Will a good agent, the kind Ethan wanted on his side. So he'd decided to make amends.

The relief on Will's face was enough for Ethan to know he'd made the right call. Enough lives had been ruined by his association with the IMF. Will's shouldn't be one of them.

When Will and Jane and Benji were gone, Ethan allowed himself the ultimate indulgence. He knew she was safe. He didn't technically need to see her in the flesh to know it was true. But the last months had been—difficult. He'd earned it, he thought.

He recognized her easily, her height and the way she held herself. Julia. Ethan breathed in the sight of her. It felt like a balm on his calloused heart. He caught her gaze and held it. She smiled. She looked…happy. Happier than he'd seen her in a long time. Maybe since before Davian and Musgrave. She turned away and his smile turned down. It was good, that she was happy. He knew they'd made the right decision. But he still missed her. It still hurt, knowing that their relationship was something he'd failed at.

He was probably better off alone. It was naive to think he could ever have a normal relationship again. This thing with Benji—actually, there was no thing with Benji. It was only that Ethan liked him more than he should. But it didn't have to go further than that. It probably shouldn't go further than that. Not that Benji even thought that way about him. It didn't matter if nothing ever happened with him. Ethan just liked him. They could be friends. Yeah. Friends. That sounded…nice.

He put up his hood, opened his phone. There was a mission waiting for him and Luther in Kandahar. Benji might even be a good idea to have along. Two hackers were better than one, right? The next mission would be crazy, and dangerous, and, with Luther and Benji along, kind of fun. Ethan let his sadness over Julia fade away, turned his energy into forward motion.

Mission accepted.

***

Julia
Seattle

Julia had been in Seattle three months and while she liked it, she was already thinking about moving on. The weather was a little much. Maybe she'd go someplace dry for a while, like Arizona.

Still, the people were nice. She laughed at one of Chris's impressions of the new surgical residents and then something, some sense she had been honing since she'd become a ghost, had her glancing around, assessing her surroundings just as Luther had taught her. She caught sight of him immediately. Even at this distance she recognized his smile. She didn't want her first emotion to be fear. If he was here, did it mean there was some sort of trouble? Was she in danger? But she saw how relaxed he was, lounging against a wooden pillar. He didn't want to scare her. She relaxed, and let the other feelings come. Pleasure. Sorrow. Would it always be this bittersweet? She was still getting used to being single. Part of her still felt married, even if she no longer was, practically, legally. Emotionally.

He looked well, and that made her happy. She waved, and smiled. She was doing fine. She wanted him to see that. She didn't want him to worry about her. She wanted…she wanted him to be free.

So she turned away, joined Chris, ordered a decaf. She didn't look up to see if he was still there. But she felt the residual warmth of his distant gaze. The sunlight he brought with him always, warming her on a damp Seattle evening. She drank her coffee and laughed.

Chapter Text

Benji
Summer 2012
Rome

It was hot. Sweltering, actually. The region was experiencing a heatwave, and the safe house where they had been holed up for eight days smelled perpetually of onions and garlic from the cafe downstairs.

The first part of the mission hadn't gone well. Benji had hacked into the security system at the museum with no problem, but they'd only counted on two security guards, not four, and Ethan had been overpowered while Jane made the switch—the fake painting for the real one. Benji had had to watch the entire thing on a monitor while he was three floors away—too far away to do anything but wince and worry as Ethan took a beating. They'd made it out of there all right, once Jane employed a tranquilizer gun on the security guards. Benji wiped the footage and together they'd gotten Ethan back to the safe house, his breathing shallow. He'd cracked a rib and would have some bruises, but he'd be okay.

Now the second part of the mission was delayed while Ethan healed. Jane had escaped the flat that morning, muttering about meeting up with a contact and escaping the heat. Benji was using the downtime to update all their software. Ethan was lying on the ratty sofa, bandage wrapped around his torso, wearing nothing but a loose pair of pajama pants.

Benji glanced over. Ethan was reading the newspaper. In Italian. He let his eyes rest on his friend, for only a moment longer than he strictly needed to. They'd been on almost back-to-back missions together since their first nearly disastrous one. None had been as nail-bitingly close as the Hendricks affair, thank heavens. They'd gotten into a pattern; Ethan pitched a crazy stunt, Benji tried to talk him out of it, then did everything in his power to back him up so they could complete the mission and get through it in one piece. That was really all Benji could ask for. All he could hope for. That he could be there to make sure Ethan came home in one piece.

Although that word—home. Benji could barely remember the last time he'd spent more than one night at his own apartment in D.C. Home now seemed to be wherever they made their coffee and went over their ops. Wherever Ethan was, that is.

It was strange to think that their small team—it rotated, but it was often Ethan, Benji, and Jane, with Will and Luther brought in depending on the scope of the mission—basically lived together. They were roommates as well as coworkers. The close quarters could have been awkward, but they weren't. It was sort of like college. They pulled all nighters and drank too much coffee and occasionally too much beer, if there wasn't anything pressing. Jane was easy to get along with. Ethan was, well he wasn't easy, but he didn't try to make things difficult when they weren't actively running an op.

One thing they didn't do was talk about personal stuff. They kept the conversation to the missions, the objectives, to the tech and the gear, to the behind-the-scenes politics that impacted what they were trying to accomplish. If they were feeling really loose they might talk about old missions, stories from their training days. Occasionally Ethan told tales from when he was an Army Ranger. Jane talked about her brief foray into MMA. Benji alluded to famous hacks he may or may not have had a hand in back during his uni days.

They didn't talk about their families or who they were dating—though there was blessed little time for anything like that anyway. Ethan didn't talk about Julia, and Benji didn't ask. Will was still Will, but it seemed he'd gotten over his issues with Ethan because the misery he'd emanated in Dubai hadn't reappeared in front of Benji. Ethan had probably talked with him about it, told him it wasn't his fault. Ethan was generous like that. He didn't like to see good people suffer.

Benji was suffering a little at the moment, in that overheated Rome apartment. He would have thought that after months of close quarters and quasi-intimate living situations, he'd get used to Ethan's proximity. But Ethan always took his breath away. He was beautiful. Benji particularly liked his new hair cut. Not crew-cut short, but not hanging around by his ears either. Just long enough where he could brush it over his forehead for a quick disguise if needed.

And here he was, six feet away, half naked, which Benji shouldn't be thinking about at all, considering the man was on bed rest from his injuries. Benji was a pathetic nurse, but Ethan didn't require much at the moment. Just immobility, which was probably his least favorite thing.

He looked up from his laptop again. Ethan needed a shave. He looked a little tired. It must have been painful to sleep. But Ethan would never complain. Benji swallowed. He wanted to do something to help, but he didn't know how to ask.

They rubbed along, him and Ethan, and it was…nice. They were friends. Benji would never let the fact that half-naked, needing-a-shave Ethan did things to his midsection interfere with their relationship. He wasn't the best actor in the IMF, but he was good enough to pretend that Ethan was just another teammate. He was pretty sure that Ethan knew that he would do anything for him, but that could have been chalked up to the fact that Ethan was ten times the agent that any of the others were, not because Ethan himself inspired a kind of loyalty to the death from those who worked with him. Benji knew he wasn't alone in that regard.

"What's on your mind, Benji?" Ethan's voice broke into his thoughts, and Benji scrambled to recall something he could have been thinking about that didn't involve Ethan's naked chest or enviable hair or undying loyalty.

"Just thinking about how we're going to steal the painting back from that arms dealer at the end of all this."

"Uh huh." Ethan sounded less than convinced, but he had a smile in his voice, like he knew that Benji was bullshitting him but he was going to let him get away with it. Ethan hadn't mellowed, exactly, but he seemed looser, somehow, since Seattle. He was still as intense as ever on a mission, but overall he was more relaxed, as if he actually liked the work he was doing. It was definitely a calling for him, like priesthood might be for someone else.

"How are the updates coming?"

"Humming away," Benji said. "How's the rib?"

"It's fine," Ethan said, then he huffed out an aborted laugh. "Actually, it hurts like hell."

"Why don't you take something?" They had a complete pharmacy on hand.

"Nah." Ethan dropped the newspaper onto the floor next to him, stared at the ceiling.

"You know, you don't always have to do everything the hard way," Benji said mildly. "You don't have to take Vicodin but let me at least get you some ibuprofen."

There was a pause. "Okay. Thanks."

Benji grabbed the bottle of pills, detoured to the kitchen for water. He glanced in the fridge, found some cold coffee leftover from the day before and poured it over ice. He snagged an apple and the last cheese danish and juggled his offerings carefully on his way back to the main room.

He set everything down on the black rigid plastic trunk they were using for a coffee table. It was the one with the mask tech inside, newly upgraded after the field notes Benji had provided the techs back in Virginia. Not that he'd gotten to wear a mask himself yet or anything.

Ethan shifted to one side to take the pills, groaned. Benji put a hand to his shoulder instinctively. "Don't move, you." Ethan stilled. Benji thought he heard Ethan suck in a tight breath. It must really hurt to breathe.

Ethan's skin was warm and Benji slowly let go once he was sure Ethan wasn't going to be flopping around the couch again.

"Here." He guided the water into Ethan's hand, watched as he washed the pills down.

Ethan handed the water back to Benji and smiled faintly. "Thanks. What's all that?"

"Cold coffee and a snack," he said, feeling a bit silly, but it was worth it once he saw Ethan's eyes light up at the prospect of caffeine and carbohydrates. He pulled a chair closer to the sofa so he could help Ethan grab what he wanted.

"I've never broken a rib," he said. He had to say something to distract him from the sight of Ethan inhaling a danish, and to stop himself from brushing away a crumb that clung to Ethan's lower lip.

"I don't recommend it," Ethan said. "For a small bone it takes way too long to heal."

"Six weeks, right?"

"We don't have six weeks."

"We could make the switch without you."

Ethan didn't dignify that with a response.

"Broke my arm once," Benji said. He didn't want to leave Ethan's side just yet.

"How?"

"Crashed my bike," Benji said.

"When was this?"

"I was ten, no—eleven."

"You were riding a motorcycle at eleven?" Ethan raised his eyebrows.

Benji goggled at him for a second, pushed down the surge of affection that wouldn't stay hidden inside its box. "No you ridiculous man, I crashed my bicycle."

Ethan chuckled. "That makes more sense."

"I was riding away from some bullies," Benji added, because he'd just then remembered why he'd been flying down the hill from school at top speed in the first place.

A line appeared between Ethan's eyebrows.

"I was sort of um, chubby, and I liked to read and didn't care about football." Not that Ethan had asked. And not that all of that was probably not patently obvious.

"I was chubby, too." Ethan said, unexpectedly.

Benji must have looked disbelieving.

"I was. I was also the slowest kid in school," Ethan said quietly. "Gym was torture."

"Slowest? But you—you're always running like a lunatic."

"I was, let's see, fourteen? My cousin and I were hiking between my house and his, through some fields. Nothing around but corn and wheat and wide open blue sky. And all of a sudden we heard thunder. But there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was a horse galloping toward us—it had escaped from a nearby farm—and it didn't see us, it didn't see anything. It was just big and heavy and nothing could have stopped it, and we were right in its path. My cousin and I split up, started running. I ran so fast the corn was blurry next to me. I could run fast. I had just never been properly motivated before."

"Jesus." That was maybe the longest speech he'd ever heard Ethan utter in one go.

"I guess it taught me that we don't know what we're capable of until we're tested."

That Benji understood. Working with Ethan was one long test of his discipline and willpower. He loved it, though. He didn't need any of his useless feelings to turn into anything, as long as he could stay.

"Benji?"

He'd been staring into space and he refocused on Ethan. He lost his breath for the millionth time looking into Ethan's greenish brownish grayish eyes. "Yes, Ethan?"

"Back then, did you know you were—when did you know—" Ethan cut himself off. "Never mind."

Benji was puzzled. It wasn't like Ethan to back off when he wanted to know something. "What? Ask me." If Ethan stopped now, he probably wouldn't get him to talk about anything personal for another six months.

"No, it's not important." Ethan smiled, but Benji had a deep knowledge of Ethan Hunt's smiles and this one was designed to put Benji off and turn his attention in a different direction. Benji went over the aborted conversation in his head. When did he know he was—oh.

"Are you asking if one of the reasons I was bullied was because I'm gay?" Benji asked, too surprised that Ethan would have brought this topic up to feel self conscious about answering the question.

Ethan dropped the smile. "Sorry, it's really none of my business."

"It's okay. The short answer is probably yes. The long answer was I didn't really understand that about myself until a bit later. I doubt the mouth breathers in Year 7 were that clued in, either. But yeah, looking back, that was part of it."

"Was it difficult for you, when you realized?"

"The world had never been an easy place for me. Being a geeky computer nerd made me an outsider. Being gay didn't exactly help me fit in more, but at least it was an identity that had some pride. And my family was really easy about it, so I was lucky there."

"That's good." Ethan sounded like he'd been prepared to personally going to go back in time and berate Benji's parents if they hadn't been supportive of their son.

"What's all this about?" Benji asked gently. "And since you can't escape, you might as well tell me."

"You're going to laugh." Ethan looked a bit…awkward. Benji tried not to think it was cute.

"What me? I never laugh."

Ethan grimaced. "It's just, I don't know, maybe it's like how I didn't know I could run fast until I was already doing it. I think it's possible for someone to have parts of themselves that they don't unlock until the right time. And growing up on a farm, and in the army, and then choosing this life—it's never been the right time. For me."

"What are you saying, Ethan?"

Ethan stared straight ahead. "When I was in Russia, in that prison, after Julia—"

Benji hadn't once heard him say her name since before he'd passed the field exam.

"—about Julia…Benji, I need to tell you something."

"All right." Benji's voice was quiet. Why did he feel terrified? What about Julia? What had happened in that Russian prison? Had someone hurt Ethan? He felt vaguely sick to his stomach.

"Julia—" Ethan's voice was suddenly hoarse. "She always liked you, too."

Benji let the breath he'd been holding. "Oh. Well. Yeah." What did that mean?

Ethan cleared his throat, turned his head toward Benji. He looked lost. Benji imagined the reason he never brought her up was because it was difficult to think about the woman he loved and hadn't been able to save. His wife was dead and Benji's heart…it was so full of love for a man who deserved so much of that, and who would never accept it—not from him. But he could be a friend. Ethan was allowing him to be that, anyway. Benji reached out, put his hand on Ethan's forearm, squeezed. I'm here for you, he wanted to say. It's okay to grieve.

Maybe some of that came through, because Ethan reached over, and covered Benji's hand with his own, acknowledging the moment.

"Benji, I'm b—"

The door to the flat nearly flew off its hinges as Jane threw it open, yelling about the arms dealer and the meeting being moved. Benji jerked his hand away, saw Ethan's mouth thin into a line. His jaw ticked as he clenched it shut, but Benji couldn't keep inventorying Ethan's body language while Jane was trying to get them mobilized. Whatever Ethan had started to say would have to wait.

Chapter Text

Ethan
Winter 2013
Washington, D.C.

Work was slow. It had been a frigid winter over much of the Northern Hemisphere and it seemed the world's criminal masterminds were keeping a low profile and waiting the weather out. Ethan hadn't spent this long stateside since he was married.

He'd gotten a flag from Julia last week. She was in Massachusetts. He could have take a couple of personal days and gone up and checked on her, but he didn't think it would be fair to inflict himself on her unnecessarily, and to go up there without telling her seemed unnecessarily creepy. So he held off, though he wished he could sit down over a cup of coffee with her and ask her advice.

About Benji.

He and the tech had never finished the conversation they'd started months before in Rome. He'd be about to tell Benji that he was bisexual. But why? What purpose would it have served?

He’d wanted to feel…not so alone. He'd been so utterly, drainingly, alone since Julia left, and though he and Benji had been working together and were friends, he'd longed for something deeper for ages. With Benji, specifically. Signaling to Benji that he was—what? not straight?—it would have been the start of something new. And maybe Ethan needed a fresh start, even if it was only with Benji as the steadfast, loyal friend he was. He didn't need anything else. Truly.

It's not like there was much time in the usual course of things to contemplate things like his sexuality and relationships—or lack of them. But this extended slowdown in international crime left him with an inordinate amount of time on his hands.

Since the entire IMF had been Ghost Protocoled out of existence two years earlier, things had changed in the organization. It had come back online smaller, lighter, and it relied more on CIA intel and resources than anyone at the IMF strictly cared for. But they knew that a debacle like the Kremlin had only put them one step closer to being shut down for good. They had to play nice with the CIA if they wanted to keep their autonomy.

Will had strategically placed himself in the intersection of IMF and CIA, which Ethan was grateful for. It was nice to have someone he trusted who had the ear of the suits. He still went into the field now and then, but he was primarily based here in D.C. Luther never stayed in one place if he didn't have a reason to; when he'd seen he wasn't particularly needed, he'd disappeared, no doubt for warmer climes than wintry D.C. Jane went for long runs, spent hours in the gym, and spent the rest of the day going over intel. Ethan finished long over-due reports, passed his annual physical, did some target practice. He did not seek out Benji for a heart to heart.

Benji always seemed too busy, anyway. Of all of them, the extended time at headquarters had agreed with him the most. Ethan knew that if he needed Benji, he'd be found on the lower levels, whipping Tech Services into shape. His time in the field had given him insight into the gear that few people had. He had both the technical and the practical understanding of what was possible, and what was essential. How a functioning magnetic robot meant the difference between life and death. He was using his time well, to outline new specs for old models and getting the team to work on new ideas.

He didn't have time for Ethan or his belated self-realizations.

As for work, there was something building, something that as of yet had no name, but Ethan could feel it out there, gathering strength, biding its time until it made a statement that couldn't be ignored. But until a pattern emerged, an underling turned, a manifesto was published, there wasn't anything he could do about it.

So he waited.

***

Ethan pushed back from his computer, rubbed his eyes. He'd been looking at intel regarding a cargo plane that had disappeared off the coast of Brazil last week. There was something off about the circumstances, but so far all the signs pointed to it being a random, tragic accident. Perhaps he was looking too hard for something to do. He hated to be inactive, and he hated the part of himself that wanted there to be a terrorist network taking down cargo planes for some nefarious reason so that he, Ethan Hunt, had a purpose in life, instead of being just a sad, divorced, middle-aged man with absolutely no personal life.

He glanced at the clock. It was six o'clock. Half the office was already gone. There was absolutely no reason not to go…out, and do whatever people did when they had regular lives. What did he and Julia used to do? They'd make dinner and talk and fall asleep on the couch watching a movie. If Luther was around, he and Ethan could have gone out for a beer. But Luther was in Majorca or St. Croix or some such place.

It wouldn't be weird to go find Benji, ask him if he wanted to get a drink, right? They were friends. It wasn't like they didn't hang out. Usually they were killing time in a damp, cold safe house, or on a stakeout. But that counted. Didn't it?

The irony of Ethan Hunt having to screw up his courage in order to ask his friend Benji out for platonic post-workday drinks was not lost on him.

Then he spotted Will walking briskly past and Ethan jumped up to intercept him. "Will! Hey!"

"Hey," Will said, cocking his head to the side. "What's up, Ethan?"

"Nothing. Just wondering if you had time for a beer."

"A beer? Right now?" Will had a funny expression on his face.

"You know, a drink. Or whatever. We could see if Benji's around, maybe uh—" Ethan called up the name of the new analyst who'd briefed him on North Korea's nuclear program that morning "—Sarah?"

Will gave him that funny look again, and Ethan tried not to feel defensive. But then Will shrugged and smiled. "Actually, Sarah and I were going to go to O'Rourke's for a bit. You and Benji should come, too."

"Okay. I'll grab him and we'll meet you there." That wasn't so hard, after all.

Then it was just a matter of texting Benji. For some reason he was reluctant to track him down in person. Maybe it would make him seem too eager?

When you wrap things up, can you meet me in conference room 3?

The reply came within a minute. Be there in ten.

Ethan detoured to the restroom, splashed water on his face, and took a critical look at his hair. He'd been keeping it shorter, since Benji had once commented that he liked it when it didn't "flop around his ears." He spent a good ninety seconds trying to decide if the hair product he'd put on it that morning in his pathetic hotel room with the vibrating fluorescent lighting had held up over the course of the day, then realized it didn't matter since he didn't have anything to freshen it up with anyway, and especially because this was just a casual work-friends-drink-thing and Ethan had no reason to be nervous and especially not about his hair, which looked fine. He ran his fingers through the front and sighed.

Benji was waiting for him in conference room three, wearing his new glasses and an argyle cardigan over a Wonder Woman graphic tee. Adorable was the first, embarrassing word that filtered into Ethan's brain when he walked in.

"Hey," Ethan said.

"What's going on? Something urgent?" Benji asked with a hint of excitement in his voice. Perhaps he was growing tired of the extended break from the field as well.

"Ah, no, not really. Will and I were going to go out for a drink and we—I—wanted to know if you could join us."

There was a slight pause during which all of Ethan's doubts and insecurities poured out of his brain and into his mouth, and he started talking again. "And Sarah, that new analyst, at someplace called O'Rourke's? I think it's a couple of blocks away. Probably one of those places that pretends it's a dive but charges eight bucks for a Bud Light. If you're busy—"

Benji held up a hand and Ethan was able, with effort, to stop the flow of words. "Sure, sounds fun," Benji said. "Let's go."

"Okay."

The walk was short, which was good because it was freezing out and Ethan hadn't worn anything heavier than his leather jacket that day. Benji had on a parka that made him look faintly ridiculous.

"At least I'm warm," Benji said, when Ethan raised his eyebrows at the voluminous coat. "You look cool, but I'll bet you're freezing your arse off."

"In a word—yes," Ethan replied, and Benji grinned.

The bar was warm and crowed and noisy, and Will and Sarah were already at a four top in a corner. Will waved them over and as they wove through the crowd, Ethan noticed something strange. For some reason there was a grown man wearing nothing but a white cloth diaper carrying a fake plastic bow and arrow roaming through the crowd. Then he noticed the glittery pink hearts decorating almost every surface, and that most of the people in place seemed to be in groups of two, maximum four. They were almost to Will when the penny dropped. It was February 14th. Valentine's Day.

Fuck. Ethan had accidentally invited himself along to Will and Sarah's Valentine's Day date, and to add to the irony he had invited Benji along to witness his humiliation.

"Hey guys," Will said, not apparently bothered by the turn of events. Ethan stared at him, trying to communicate telepathically and failing miserably as Will just grinned at him innocently. "Take off your coats. Benji, are you wearing a couch?"

"Fuck you," Benji said breezily, then, with a nod of his head toward Sarah, who was watching with a smile, "Pardon my French."

Benji peeled off his coat and stuck it under the table. Ethan shrugged, figured if Will was game, they could stay for a little while. He shrugged out of his jacket and rolled up the sleeves on his plain black button-down. "First round's on me," he said. "What's everyone drinking?"

An hour later, they were all well into the third round. Sarah, who was obviously smart, very attractive, and clearly way out of Will's league, was telling stories of her days as a Military Police Officer in the Army. No one had mentioned the fact that it was Valentine's Day, but it was hard to escape when the cupid-for-hire came by their table and pretended to shoot arrows at everyone.

"When the arrow pierces the heart, lovers must kiss or have bad luck for seven years," the cupid intoned.

"I think you're mixing your superstitions, mate," Benji said, rolling his eyes.

"It's a Valentine's rule," the cupid said stubbornly. He took aim at Sarah, who playfully pantomimed being struck in the heart, leaned over and gave Will a quick peck on the lips. Ethan decided after watching them for the past hour that they'd been on three dates prior to tonight but hadn't slept together yet. However, if their body language and amount of alcohol they were imbibing was any indication, they might cross that line tonight.

Benji whistled approvingly, and Will flushed happily. Ethan chuckled. Okay, even though it was, Jesus, Valentine's Day and he'd gotten himself into this situation through his own awkward inability to be a normal person, he was having fun. It was better than sitting in front of a computer screen alone all night.

And then it happened. The cupid hadn't been satisfied with one happy couple. He turned his arrow on Benji, pretended to shoot. Ethan didn't realize the implication until it was too late. Cupid repeated the action toward Ethan.

Faintly, Ethan could hear Will laughing to his right. Benji, though, had turned bright red and was waving his arms in front of his chest to signal no. Then he was saying it, "No, no, no, no, no. No." It would have been comical if Ethan didn't feel like his heart had actually been pierced by an arrow. "No, we're not—no. Sorry. Happy Valentine's Day. Cheers." Benji stuck a bill in the pouch the cupid was collecting tips in. "On your way, there you go." The cupid shrugged, happy with the tip, and melted into the crowd.

Ethan felt his face frozen into a grimace of a smile. He wanted to laugh it off, but Benji's fervent denials that there was even the glimmer of a possibility that the two of them could have been there as more than friends—it hurt more than he anticipated.

Benji didn't seem to have a problem laughing. He chuckled and buried his nose in his pint and avoided looking at Ethan, which was just as well because Ethan didn't know exactly what he would have seen on his face. When he glanced at Will, he knew it was nothing good. Will's initial laughter had faded, and now he just looked…concerned? For Ethan? Oh god. This night was truly a nightmare. He looked at Sarah, who just looked confused.

Ethan put his drink to his lips mechanically, and took a sip that tasted like sawdust just to have something to do. Well, that was that.

Chapter Text

Benji
Spring 2013
Berlin

Two days after the disastrous Valentine's Day outing, work had picked up and Benji had been shipped to North Africa for four weeks. Without Ethan. He'd been chosen to join another mission team because only he had the ability to hack into the necessary military defense systems. He'd been eager to get back into the field, and a little relieved at being able to take a break from Ethan.

Ethan, no matter now many how times Benji gave himself a stern lecture on not falling for straight guys, was still usually the last person Benji thought about before he fell asleep at night, starred in most of his anxiety dreams and the occasional frustrating sex dream, and then was the first one on Benji's mind when he woke up in the morning. What crazy scheme had Ethan cooked up today? How was Ethan's strained shoulder? Was Ethan eating enough? Did he actually fancy the woman in the scarlet evening gown that he'd had to shamelessly flirt with all night for the mission, or was he just a really, really good actor?

It got exhausting, reminding himself not to be in love with his best friend.

So the extended break was welcome, even if he missed the man himself. But with the distance, Ethan didn't seem to filter into this thoughts quite as often as he usually did.

When he lay in bed at night, his head buzzing after working through thousands of lines of code, sometimes his brain would helpfully torture him by reminding him of that night at the bar. What had started as a fun night out had turned into something out of a horror show. That diaper-man had assumed he and Ethan were a couple. And from Will's date's expression, she'd thought they were one, too.

Benji had been mortified for Ethan's sake—and his own, having to explain that they were just friends. It had happened to Benji before, and he always found it embarrassing, the assumptions people made, feeling that his sexual orientation was somehow rubbing off on his friends, spreading awkwardness around until it became paralyzing.

Benji huffed. He was forty years old. Too old to be embarrassed over shit like this. Too old to fall for a straight guy, who, even if he wasn't straight would be far too good for Benji. Ethan had married Julia, the hot, smart, girl next door. What use would he have for a quirky, wiry, British, glasses-wearing nerd?

This wouldn't even be an issue except that in the seven years Benji had known Ethan, he'd become more entwined with Benji's life each year. Since the Hendricks case, they'd practically spent every mission together, lived in each other's pockets. They were starting to finish each others' sentences, for goodness sake.

This bit of distance was good. It was healthy. And if Benji could stop missing Ethan enough to find someone to date, that would be even better.

North Africa had gone well. While there, they'd gotten intel that had lead them to Germany. Benji had been doing surveillance on a factory on the outskirts of Berlin for two days. The first week they were in Europe the weather had felt frigid, especially compared to the Mediterranean, but today it was as if a warm wind had blown winter away for good. The air was warm, the sun was shining, and everything had a glossy, new look about it.

Benji whistled as he set the timers for the cameras. One more day and they'd have enough footage to loop in order to pull off the infiltration. He couldn't wait to finish up and get back to the city center. Each night they'd been in Berlin he'd stopped at the same pub for a pint on the way back to the safe house. There was a bartender there, about his age with a quick smile, who'd been very friendly. Benji had been out of the game for a while—since his ill-fated relationship before he became a field agent—but he felt pretty good about his chances.

Picking up a cute bartender didn't even rank on the list of crazy things he'd done in the past two years.

Since he'd become a field agent, Benji had redefined his levels of acceptable risk. He didn't think twice before taking impossible shots, playing impossible odds, making impossible decisions. A lot of that had to do with working with Ethan, having some of his golden luck envelope Benji as well. But it was also because he'd learned to trust himself, trust his limits and his prowess. He was good at his job, and working apart from Ethan these last few weeks had reminded him that he didn't always need Ethan's luck to make the impossible happen.

So he could ask a bartender out, damn it. He could get laid. He could forget how Ethan's smile made his heart stutter and the next time they worked together, all he'd feel would be friendship toward his crazy coworker.

Benji was feeling pretty damn confident when he earpiece crackled to life and his team lead's voice broke into his thoughts. "Come in, Cumulous."

"Cumulous here, over."

"Be advised the timetable has changed. We have company."

"Hostiles?" Benji started scanning the perimeter for anyone out of place.

There was a pause, then a rustle and his team lead spoke again, "Negative. There's another bird on the nest. Stand down."

Another bird—another IMF team? Benji suddenly got a very bad feeling about what was about to happen. The next moment he saw a small figure in all black running across the roof at top speed, followed by four security guards. Benji was outside the chainlink fence topped with razor wire, and could only watch in consternation as the familiar figure leapt from the edge of the roof, catching a ride on a power line, which only just cleared the fence. He hung from the cable, twenty feet in the air, for a sickeningly long moment, while the security guards readied their weapons. They were out of Benji's range, but he could perhaps draw their fire. He drew his gun, hoping to buy the black-clad figure some time, when the man fell, or rather dropped, and Benji winced, expecting to see him thud to the ground. But of course this man had the luck of the angels, and he'd angled himself in such as way that his fall was broken by a pile of discarded styrofoam packaging material. The security guards fired, but they were too far away.

Benji holstered his gun, hastily packed his gear, and jogged to the pile of styrofoam. Ethan Hunt rose out of it, dusting bits of white foam from his all-black ensemble.

"Hey," Ethan said, lifting his chin in greeting.

"Hey," Benji repeated.

Ethan grinned and the two of them started running. As they pealed out in their escape vehicle, Benji was certain of two things. One: all the surveillance he'd done over the past two days was for nothing. Two: it didn't matter how many bartenders he picked up: he'd never truly get over Ethan Hunt.

***

Ethan
Christmastime 2013
D.C.

Ethan was bone tired. Berlin had turned into Budapest and then a long, hot summer Colombia had segued into fall in Cuba. They had been on a steady string of missions for months, until finally, he declared "mission accomplished," and put in for some vacation time. He convinced Benji to take his at the same time, and they traveled back to D.C. together on a puddle jumper from Bermuda.

He dropped Benji off at the apartment he still kept, despite what must have been months of accumulated dust covering every surface, checked into a hotel and slept for 20 hours. The next day he visited IMF headquarters to see the doctor, physical therapist, and pharmacist, in that order. Nothing in particular was wrong. He was just getting old.

He ran into Jane on his way to check on Will in the upstairs offices. She had been in the field less and less during the past year. She had been tapped to do some training, mainly hand-to-hand combat, and was brilliant at it, by all accounts.

"How are you, Ethan?" she said, after inviting him into her office.

"You know me," he said. He knew she'd see the evasion but he was too tired to get into it. He was physically worn out, he was frustrated that this shadowy terror syndicate he'd been tracking always seemed one step ahead of him, and he was tired of wanting someone he couldn't have. He and Benji had continued to work together, on and off, but mostly on, and every time was bittersweet. They clicked in the field, and then there were the occasional awkward moments that just served to remind Ethan that Benji didn't think of Ethan as someone he could love.

Jane just smiled at Ethan's statement. She did know him.

"We miss you in the field, Jane," he said.

"Well, I miss you too, but I have news. I'm actually glad I ran into you so I can tell you face-to-face."

"What is it?"

"I'm leaving the IMF. I'm transferring to the FBI."

"When? Why?"

"Soon. And the why—well, I can't believe I'm even saying this, but—I met someone." She looked embarrassed and pleased and as if she was dreading Ethan's judgment.

"That's great, Jane," he said, infusing his voice with warmth. Far be it from him to begrudge her any personal happiness. He knew what she'd been through.

As if they were both thinking of the same thing, her smile dropped. "Yeah, he's FBI, of course. We met at joint training exercise. He's stationed in Las Vegas and I'm moving out there."

"What's his name?" Just in case Ethan had to a background check one of these days. Not just anyone would be good enough for Jane Carter.

"Diego Raphael. We're going to get married, the whole nine yards."

"Congratulations. I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks, Ethan, that means a lot." She took a deep breath. "We don't always get second chances, you know? I didn't want to wait until it was too late."

Ethan nodded, remembering Hanaway, thinking of the lost look in her eyes throughout that entire mission.

"Don't make the same mistake I made." Her voice was low and even. Ethan didn't quite register that she was talking to him even though they were alone in her tiny office. "Tell him."

His gaze flew to her face. "What?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Don't wait until it's too late."

There was no way she could be talking about—how could she know?

"Will and I discussed it, and we just think it's important that you try—"

"Will? Jesus." Ethan fought a rising sense of panic. "No, you guys don't know what you're talking about."

"Ethan, it's okay." Jane reached out, put a calming hand on his arm. "Will just mentioned a while ago that he thought you and Benji might have had a misunderstanding, but I figured, knowing you as I do, that you probably haven't even talked enough to have a misunderstanding."

Ethan couldn't contradict her.

"You don't want to have regrets," Jane said. "And don't you think you deserve some happiness?" Jane still thought that Julia was dead. Benji still thought that, for God's sake. They thought he was a bereaved widower who'd failed to keep his wife safe. Not a man who was so unable to live a normal life that his wife had ended their relationship before one of them ended up dead, or worse.

Maybe he didn't think he deserved to be happy. Maybe that's why he'd talked himself out of saying anything to Benji, time and again. Maybe he didn't want to drag Benji down with him. He'd been compartmentalizing his life for a long time. His feelings for Benji had been put into a neatly labeled box and buried. He knew they'd never go away, but he could live with that. He couldn't live with making Benji's life worse because he had feelings for him.

"Just think about it. What's the worst that can happen?"

***

The office was having a Christmas party. It had originally been planned as a going away party for Jane, but she'd up and left town already. Clean break. So someone found the budget for some pizza and chips and booze, even though they weren't supposed to drink at the office. Who was going to tell?

Will clapped Ethan on the shoulder and clinked his red plastic cup against Ethan's bottle of beer. "Better than the way we spent last Christmas, right?"

Ethan, Will, and Benji had been tailing a rogue Mossad agent through Egypt and had spent Christmas stranded without transportation in the Eastern Desert.

"This is preferable to almost dying of thirst, yes," Ethan said. Only just, though, he wanted to add, but Will looked like he was having a good time. It wasn't his fault that Ethan had been out of sorts since Jane had urged him to tell Benji how he felt about him. Not that she really knew the depth of his feelings. She and Will had gotten into their heads that he liked Benji. To them it was simple: Ethan liked Benji. Benji must like Ethan. One of them just had to make a move and everything would turn out fine.

Ethan had been turning the problem over and over in his head. Maybe it was simpler than he'd made it out to be. Maybe he'd built up all sorts of barriers between him and Benji, but they were all in his head. Maybe it was just as easy as they made it sound. Maybe it wasn't impossible after all.

"Hey, mate," Benji said, appearing at his side as if out of nowhere.

And maybe it was.

"Having fun?" Ethan asked. He glanced at Benji's outfit. He was wearing a garish red and green sweater with a reindeer knitted on it. He looked ridiculously attractive. Ethan took a sip of beer helplessly. This wasn't fair. Benji had no right to look cute in an ugly Christmas sweater.

"Sure, nothing says 'Happy Christmas' like cold pizza and free beer," he said with mock enthusiasm.

"You have plans for the holidays?"

"Not really. Seemed like a bad idea to make plans in case something comes up. You know."

"Yeah. I know." Ethan hadn't made any plans either. Julia had moved on to New York from Massachusetts. Luther was working. Jane was gone. Will was…currently chugging a forty while a group of analysts cheered him on. Like the over-grown frat boy he sometimes regressed to.

Ethan took a deep breath. Why was this so difficult? He'd climbed the tallest building the world with nothing but a faulty set of sticky gloves. He could have an honest conversation with his best friend. "Benji—can we get out of here?"

"Cold pizza not doing it for you? I'd kill for some noodles. Not literally, of course," Benji hastened to add.

So they abandoned the party and got a cab to the Thai place off Dupont Circle near Benji's apartment. They talked of inconsequentials. Ethan didn't know how to broach the subject. How did you tell someone you'd known for almost eight years that somewhere along the way, he'd gone from someone you worked with, to someone you trusted, to someone you called a friend, to someone you wanted to kiss, to someone you needed more than anyone else in the world?

The restaurant was busy, and they had to wait for a table. They staked out a spot near the cash register, waiting for something to open up.

"You're sure you're okay with waiting?" Ethan asked. "We could go somewhere else."

"No, I like this place." Benji's ears turned a little pink. Ethan loved it when they did that. "You brought me here for the first time, remember?"

"Of course," Ethan said. "I remember." And his gaze held Benji's for a long moment. Maybe it wasn't impossible. Maybe it was easy. As easy as—

A little girl's giggle distracted him. Ethan glanced down at a blonde child with pigtails who was pointing and giggling.

"Yes, my sweater is very silly," Benji said, to appease the girl.

"Nina!" The girl's mother scolded her child. "Don't be rude!" She stepped in front of her daughter. "So sorry."

"Mommy! Mistletoe!" The girl's voice carried across the restaurant's entryway clearly. Ethan looked up. There was, indeed, a sprig of mistletoe directly over his and Benji's heads.

"Bloody hell, not again," Benji complained in a very put-upon voice. Ethan could tell he was working himself up into a strop, so he held up a hand to stop him.

"Benji. It's okay." Benji shut his mouth and glared at the general direction of the girl, but her mother had already shuffled her out the door.

"It's okay," Ethan said again. "It's perfect." He leaned in, closed his eyes, and kissed Benji Dunn on the mouth for three extraordinary seconds. Benji smelled like cinnamon and felt warm and alive. Ethan knew in an instant that he'd never regret kissing Benji, even if it was the only time he ever got to do it.

He pulled back to gauge Benji's reaction. His eyes were open and staring at Ethan as if he could solve the problem of world peace by looking hard enough at Ethan Hunt's eyes. The world ceased to exist outside of Benji, Ethan, and the mistletoe, so Ethan was startled when the hostess appeared and said she had a table for them.

They followed her wordlessly. Benji in fact said nothing as they sat, opened their menus and stared at them blankly. Ethan grew more nervous with each passing second of silent Benji. Normally, words were Benji's security blanket. The absence of them was nearly terrifying.

The waitress came around. Ethan ordered for both of them, the exact same things they ordered last time, over three years ago. Still, Benji was quiet.

Finally, when Ethan was about to give up and break the silence himself, Benji said, "Was that just for show?"

"No."

"Then what was it?"

"I've been making everything so complicated in my head. I've been trying to come up with right words, and that could take forever. I guess I just realized that the best way to tell you that I have feelings for you was not to tell you at all, but to show you. And I'm sorry I didn't ask first. I should have asked your permission, but I sort of didn't want to give myself an out. So, I apologize."

"You apologize for kissing me?"

"Without asking you first."

"Oh. That's okay."

"Is it?"

Benji seemed to have processed Ethan's words in their entirety because his eyes grew very round. "You have feelings for me." It wasn't a question.

"I do."

"But you're straight."

"No. I'm bisexual." It was the first time he'd ever spoken the words out loud and it felt instantly like a fifty pound weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Benji gaped. "You're bisexual? Honestly? Have you ever been with a—no, I'm sorry, that's inappropriate. You don't have to prove it to me. I just—I had no idea. No bloody idea." Benji honestly sounded completely flabbergasted.

"If you had known, would it have changed anything?"

Benji didn't respond right away. Ethan was a little worried that he was baring his soul in a public place and Benji hadn't even said if he'd enjoyed the kiss or not. Ethan had never kissed a man before. It had felt…utterly glorious. Especially because it had been Benji. But maybe Benji didn't feel the same way.

"Would it have changed anything?" Benji repeated. "All this time—I thought I was a lunatic because I had a thing for my straight best friend. And it turns our you're bi? Of course it would have changed things. It would have changed everything."

Ethan latched onto "thing for my straight best friend." That sounded promising. Perhaps this was going to be a Merry Christmas after all. He grinned and Benji smiled back. Ethan put his hand on top of the table, palm up. Benji slowly placed his hand in Ethan's. It was a start. Ethan never wanted to have to let go.

Chapter Text

Benji
Christmastime 2013
D.C.

Benji felt like he was in a dream, but not necessarily a good dream. He felt like he was in a dream where he was falling, endlessly, and any moment now he'd land. Hard. But in the meantime, he and Ethan ate and shared shy smiles and talked about nothing, the fingers tangled together on the tabletop at the Thai restaurant.

Nothing about this made sense. Benji almost wanted to hit the ground, even if it hurt, just so he could right his world. Because a world in which Ethan, his sun, the body around which he orbited, always, was actually within his reach? That was a world that Benji had never lived in, had never expected to live in. So maybe this was a dream after all.

"Are you okay?" Ethan asked, as they paid the bill at the register. Benji came to himself with a start, realizing he was staring at the mistletoe that had started the entire evening off on this surreal note.

"Hmm? Yeah. Sort of." Benji and Ethan had shared many things over the last years. Danger. Intel. Quips. But they rarely shared honest, personal conversation. Maybe it was time that changed.

"Sort of?" Something in Ethan's face changed, as if he expected to get bad news. It occurred to Benji that maybe Ethan was feeling as out of his depth as Benji was. They were friends, and they were in new territory, and Benji was going to have to take a lead if he wasn't going to be permanently confused by what was happening.

"Let's go back to my place," he said decisively.

"Sure, okay," Ethan said. They walked in tandem. Benji kept his hands in his pockets. Something told him Ethan might try to hold his hand and he wasn't ready for that. He'd never been into public displays of affection. Not only was he gay with plenty of practice keeping that salient fact to himself, but he was British, to boot, and since working for the IMF, he tended to keep his cards close to the vest out of habit. He hadn't missed the fact that becoming involved with Ethan on a personal level put him at risk. One only had to think of Julia to see that.

"You're quiet," Ethan remarked, as they drew closer to Benji's building.

Benji realized they'd walked the entire way without speaking. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm just—"

"Processing?"

"Yeah. Let's go up." Benji led Ethan up to his apartment. It was clean, if a little bleak. He spent so little time there, any personality it once had had slowly faded away. The gaming rig in the living room was the main focal point of the place.

"You want something to drink?" Benji opened his refrigerator as Ethan shrugged out of his coat. "I've got…water. Coconut water. And um…tea?"

"Glad to know we won't get dehydrated," Ethan said wryly. "I'm fine."

Benji poured himself a glass of tap water, kicked his shoes off on the way to the couch. Ethan followed, sitting next to him, but not too close. This was feeling very awkward. Benji wondered if they'd opened a door that had been better left closed. Well, Ethan had opened it. By kissing him. The moment was seared onto Benji's memory like a brand. One second Benji was working himself into a huff and the next Ethan had been…touching him. With his mouth. Warm pressure, the slight brush of his hand on Benji's wrist. And then gone.

But that was then. Now they were alone, in private, and Benji needed to know…

"So you're bi?"

Ethan sat back, increasing the distance between them. "Not done processing, then?"

"Ethan, we need to actually talk about this. Please."

"You're right. I'm sorry." Ethan frowned. "I'm not very good at this."

"At talking?"

"At relationships."

Benji was falling again. He shook his head to clear it of the vertigo. "Relationships," he repeated.

"Forget I said that," Ethan said quickly. "We're not—it doesn't have to be…"

Benji laughed, taking pity. "Ethan, it's okay. I'm just trying to wrap my head around the fact that my friend that I've known for almost eight years, who never gave me indication that he felt anything other than friendship toward me has told me that he has feelings for me and kissed me. In public! And oh, by the way, he's not straight, even though he was married to the most perfect woman in the world."

"I get it. It's a little unexpected."

"Understatement of the decade."

"You really didn't ever think…" Ethan's lids lowered, and he appeared to be looking at Benji's mouth. "…that I might have felt more than friendship toward you?"

Benji thought back. Maybe there were signs. But he'd always ruthlessly dismissed his reading into them as pathetic fantasy. The fact that his feelings had endured, despite the pointlessness of them, that was the real miracle. Because he was sitting on his couch with Ethan Hunt, and yeah, Ethan was still his friend, but the way he was looking at him right now was not platonic in the least. Benji felt his ears grow warm. "Er—let's just get back to the business at hand, all right? How long have you—how did I not know that you weren't straight?"

"I tried to tell you. It's something that's always been there, but I never truly acknowledged it, until, well, after Julia. I realized that I liked you. And not like a friend. That too, but you know what I mean." Ethan spoke calmly, but there was a tightness in his jaw that Benji recognized as nerves.

"So you realized you were bisexual, decided you liked me, and what, just sat with that for two years?"

"Well, basically."

"But you've been with other men, right?" Maybe this was crossing a line, but it felt important to Benji. If they were doing this, he needed to know everything.

"Actually, no. Is that relevant?" Ethan looked more impatient than uncomfortable, so Benji pressed.

"You've never…?"

"I thought about it. But I wanted…" Ethan took a deep breath. He was looking somewhere the right of Benji. "I wanted you to be my first."

Benji's mouth went dry, and his stomach felt like it was in free fall again. He needed clarification. "Your first…?"

"The first man I kissed. The first person I kissed since Julia." Ethan was definitely not looking at Benji now. He didn't seem embarrassed by his admission, just tentative. Benji wanted to reassure him, but first things first.

"You haven't been with anyone since Julia?" He couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"I couldn't. Not when you were the only one I wanted." Ethan finally, finally, dragged his gaze back over to meet Benji's. His eyes didn't lie. He wanted Benji and he wasn't ashamed by his choices.

Benji swore inventively and couldn't help tugging at his hair a little. Why had he gone and fallen for a complete loon?

"Sorry if that's a little—"

"What? A little much? A little intense? That's you all over Ethan. You are the definition of intense."

"And that's a good thing?" Ethan asked hopefully.

Benji huffed out a laugh. "Fishing for compliments now?"

"No, just a little clarity. When you said you had 'a thing' for me…define thing, please."

Benji knew turnabout was fair play, but he still felt a little naked as he tried to put his feelings into words. "Ethan you are…larger than life. And when a nerd from tech services becomes friends with the great Ethan Hunt, that techie nerd doesn't expect anything. I went into the field to make you proud, but not because I ever thought you'd care about me. Working with you, that's already been the greatest honor of my life. My fool heart sometimes had trouble differentiating between admiring you and admiring you, if you know what I mean."

"I think so."

"I told myself over and over again not to do this to myself. Not to fall for the beautiful, unattainable, straight guy. But…"

"Maybe your heart is smarter than you give it credit for, Benji. Maybe on some level it knew that my heart was out there, beating for you."

Benji stilled. What kind of a line was that? But Ethan was serious. That was Ethan. Corny, but real. It's why Benji loved him. Why this was all too much to be believed. His initial impulse was to make a joke, to laugh it away. He looked at Ethan's face and knew that if he laughed, it might not be something they could recover from. Instead he nodded, he reached out, took one of Ethan's hands in his.

"Maybe it did." He smiled when Ethan seemed to relax. "I'm glad it never seemed to be able to give up on the idea that you might see your way to—to liking a funny tech nerd like me."

"I can't tell you how happy I am that you didn't push me off in disgust in the restaurant."

"What? Why would I do that?"

"I just wasn't sure how you'd react. I only had Jane's vague encouragement to go on."

"What does Jane have to do with anything?"

"She gave me a much-needed push."

"But you're always so confident. I never though you'd need a push to go after what you want."

"Well, I was confident that you didn't feel that way about me."

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Remember Valentine's Day? I fucked up. I didn't even realize it was Valentine's Day when I asked you to come out with me. And then the way you reacted when that cupid wanted us to kiss…I thought you'd never be interested."

"Oh my god! That wasn't it at all. I thought you would never be interested. It was a case of me protesting too much."

"That makes me feel better." Ethan smiled. "And I guess I'm glad our first kiss wasn't coerced at arrow-point."

"Indeed. We got a bratty little girl and mistletoe instead."

"I'm just glad it happened." Ethan's voice was warm and thick with something unnamable. It was starting to sink in; Ethan meant what he said. He wanted Benji. Benji tightened his grip on Ethan's hand. They were in this together, finding out their messy, unrequited feelings weren't so unrequited after all. Benji didn't feel like he was falling anymore. No, he'd fallen for Ethan a long time ago, and now he was finally landing. And the best part was, he'd landed right next to the person he most wanted to be with in all the world.

"Yes, we…kissed," Benji said, his gaze dropping involuntarily to Ethan's mouth. "Once. Perhaps we should kiss again, to make sure it wasn't a fluke." He could do corny, too.

"Good idea," Ethan said, and they leaned toward each other, meeting in the middle. Benji let go of Ethan's hand in order to pull him closer. This, their second kiss, was as soft and almost innocent as the first, for about two seconds. Then Ethan's hands found their way to Benji's arms, and he squeezed. Benji opened his mouth involuntarily, and Ethan followed suit. The touch of Ethan's tongue to his was electric. Benji was very aware that this was new to Ethan—not kissing, but kissing a guy. Some distant part of his brain was telling him it made sense to go slow, to keep his eyes open and protect them both from doing something rash and stupid. Another, more dominant part of his brain was screaming at him You're kissing Ethan fucking Hunt and he likes it!! Lock this down! Put a ring on it! Tell him you love him and you'd figuratively have his babies! That's the part that had Benji sticking his tongue down Ethan's throat, climbing into his lap, sucking a love bite into his neck in the space of about thirty seconds.

Ethan's frantic, "Wait!" was a splash of cold water in Benji's face. He leapt back, putting air between them. Ethan looked gorgeous, lips red from kissing, the love bite red and obvious over his pulse point, his shirt pushed up to reveal half his six-pack. But his expression was a bit wild.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry, Ethan. Too fast, I know." Benji felt like he'd failed the first test of their relationship, if that's what they were embarking on. Ethan had made his feelings fairly clear. Benji knew there were lots of reasons not to be in a relationship with Ethan Hunt, but when he had the man in his arms and his tongue in his mouth he couldn't remember them.

"No, it's not that—well, it's just, it's been so long since I've been with anyone, and it's you and it's all so—"

"Overwhelming?" Benji hadn't been with anyone in what felt like forever, either. He could relate.

"Yes. Overwhelming. Amazing. I'd forgotten how it felt to be…"

"Ravaged?" Benji winced. Always with the jokes.

Ethan sighed, half exasperated, half wistful. "Touched."

Oh. Of course. Benji suddenly thought of the six months Ethan had spent alone in a Russian prison. He must have been touch starved. How had he borne it? He was so tactile. His hands, so expressive. Benji picked them up reverently. He kissed each finger, each knuckle, slowly, carefully. He wanted to show Ethan than he could put his own needs second, all evidence to the contrary. He kissed the pad of Ethan's left thumb, and Ethan shuddered.

"I love touching you," Benji whispered.

"Don't stop," Ethan said. "Please."

Benji couldn't refuse him. Not then, not ever.

He led, showing Ethan that he could trust him, no only with his life, but with his body. With his heart. They kissed, deep, slow, drugging kisses. Benji hadn't made out like that in years. It felt like being reborn, to do that with Ethan, the person he loved, the person he admired, the person he'd so uselessly wanted for so many years. His desire simmered, heating every inch of him, but it seemed the depths of his arousal were bottomless, because every time Ethan touched him in a new place, it was the best thing he'd ever felt, until Ethan touched him someplace else. He craved Ethan with an intensity that he'd never before experienced. And yet, he would have been content to do this forever, just trading long, lazy kisses, stroking what little skin they'd bared, running his fingers through Ethan's impossibly soft hair. He didn't need anything else, just Ethan and this couch and all the time in the world.

And yet, there was more. Ethan canted his hips in such a way, and suddenly Benji dug his fingers into Ethan's gloriously overdeveloped biceps, holding on while they rolled against each other, finding a rhythm like waves crashing on the shore. Ethan was on his back on the couch, and Benji felt the sparks of an orgasm gathering low in his belly. He was going to come just from the friction of Ethan's hard, fucking hot body against his.

"Benji." Ethan uttered his name with something close to desperation. Benji looked at his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, he was breathing hard and practically shaking underneath him.

"It's okay," Benji said. If he had to describe his tone, he might have said it was a croon. "Come on, Ethan, it's all right." Ethan's eyes flew open and a cry came out of his mouth and Benji knew he'd just witnessed the love of his life having his first orgasm with another man. It wasn't two more rolls of his hips later that he was coming, too, heedless of the sticky mess they'd no doubt made in their pants. "Fuck, Ethan, darling. Fuck." He couldn't stop the words. He didn't want to. And the way Ethan kissed him, as if he was trying to pour years' worth of emotions into one kiss—Ethan didn't seem to mind one bit.

And then Ethan's cell phone rang.

Chapter Text

Ethan
Christmastime 2013
D.C.

The last thing Ethan wanted to do was to pick up that phone. But habit and duty propelled him to take a centering breath and answer with a clipped, "Yes?"

"Headquarters. Now." Brandt's voice betrayed no trace of holiday cheer or the alcohol Ethan had seen him imbibe mere hours earlier.

"Understood." Ethan's answer was automatic, but he experienced an odd feeling of disorientation as the word left his mouth. He'd go. Of course he would. But he didn't really want to. He wanted to stay with Benji, and make up for a lifetime of denying some innate and vital part of himself. What they'd just done, what they were doing—Ethan had never felt more like himself. Not a spy, not a miracle worker. Not a (failed) husband. Benji had always made Ethan feel free to be himself. And now that he knew just how good that could feel, he was reluctant to give it up.

That could prove to be a very dangerous impulse.

He was about to hang up, to ease out from underneath Benji, when Brandt's voice went on. "And if you happen to get ahold of Benji, have him come in, too. He didn't pick up his cell." There wasn't anything beyond the simple statement of facts in Will's voice, but it wasn't impossible that Will had seen Benji and Ethan leave the office together earlier that night. Did that matter?

"Okay," he said shortly, then hung up.

Benji had followed the conversation and made his own deductions. He climbed off of Ethan. "Both of us?"

Ethan nodded. Benji didn't seem to feel the need to ignore their responsibilities and head for the bedroom. He was checking his phone, thumbing through his messages. "I left it on vibrate," was all he said.

"We better go," Ethan said. "I need to—um, clean up."

"Of course. The bathroom's there. Clean towels. Uh, do you want to borrow anything?"

Ethan had not thought through what making out with Benji on the couch would do to his willpower or his clothes. He couldn't spare time to contemplate what it had done to his heart.

"No, I'll be okay." Before Benji could say anything else, he practically jogged to the bathroom. The moment he had privacy he couldn't help smiling wide at the sheer joy he felt at having finally told Benji how he felt, and to have it apparently reciprocated. It was close to best case scenario, and Ethan didn't come across those very often. Yeah, they'd been interrupted, but as Ethan ran the water and cleaned himself up as best he could, he realized that Benji actually understood the need for both of them to drop everything and go to work. Benji appreciated how crucial a few minutes could be between a mission succeeding and failing. Ethan wasn't going to have to explain and feel guilty and wonder if he was putting Benji in danger. If they didn't broadcast their relationship, Benji wouldn't be in any more danger than he wasn't on a daily basis. Benji knew exactly what his life was like. And he was willing to try with Ethan anyway.

He emerged to find Benji already waiting for him in the living room. He'd changed his clothes and was chugging some coconut water.

"Gotta stay hydrated," Ethan said, still smiling from before.

"You're in a good mood," Benji commented as they made their way downstairs. It was only two metro stops to headquarters. If they walked fast they'd be there in ten minutes.

Before they left the lobby of Benji's building, Ethan made a guess as to where there'd be a blind spot in the requisite security cameras, grabbed Benji and kissed him. He didn't know when he'd next get a chance, and now that it was allowed, he couldn't help himself.

"I'm happy," he said.

Benji smiled back. "I'd be happier if Will hadn't called us in. But needs must, I suppose."

"Just in case things get crazy at work and we don't have a chance—I just want you to know—" Ethan stopped, suddenly not sure how he wanted to finish that sentence.

"I know," Benji said after the beat of silence that followed.

"You do?"

"I know we have more talk about. More to figure out."

"Yeah." He wasn't wrong, but that's not exactly what Ethan had meant.

"Work comes first and that's okay." Benji didn't sound upset about it. He sounded certain, like he knew Ethan and it didn't bother him.

Ethan let out a breath. Benji did know him, even if he didn't know all the thoughts and feelings that were swirling around in his heart. Even if he didn't know exactly to what extent Ethan's heart was beating for him. "Work first," he agreed. It wasn't a bad policy. Benji nodded. "But we're…we're a close second, okay?" It was both a question and a promise.

The smile on Benji's face was all the answer he needed.

***

When they got to headquarters, they found Will buzzing on his third RedBull and orders to decamp for Europe immediately.

"Good thing I skipped the holiday plans," Benji said lightly. "Where are we off to, then?"

"You're going to Dublin to rendezvous with Agent Chan and work on setting up security credentials for Ethan, who will be in Paris working the lead that just came in on the Syndicate."

"Paris?" Ethan said. He glanced at Benji, who was reading the intel briefing on his laptop. He'd hoped that they were going to get to be together, even if it would be a working holiday. On the quick trip over here, he'd imagined stealing time together. Now that he'd kissed Benji and knew the way Benji's dextrous, clever hands with their keyboard callouses felt when they touched his body…he was impatient for more.

But it seemed it wasn't meant to be.

Will handed him a flash drive. "You can read your brief on the plane. A helicopter is standing by to take you to the airfield."

"Great," he said. The professional attitude came naturally to him, but he couldn't help but feel it was sort of an act, and he felt out of sorts. Probably because this thing with Benji was all so fresh. He needed time to get used to the fact that he wasn't alone anymore; work wasn't all he was living for.

As Benji asked Will some questions and started making a list of the gear he'd need to assemble, Ethan realized that that wasn't actually true. He'd been living for more than work for a long time—keeping Benji safe in the field had been an important component of that. He wanted a chance to prove just how much Benji meant to him. He wanted time.

That was the one thing he didn't have right now.

"Your flight leaves in forty minutes," Will reminded him, as he remained in his chair in the conference room.

"Right. Thanks, Will."

"Good luck, Ethan."

Benji didn't look up from his laptop.

"Bye, Benji." He felt stupid saying it.

But Benji raised his head, met his gaze. His mouth softened. "Goodbye, Ethan."

He left the room before he could make more of a fool of himself. He was Ethan Hunt. Tough as nails. Unflinching. Unhesitating. He didn't linger in conference rooms just because he didn't want to say goodbye to his…boyfriend?

The word didn't seem to quite fit. Whatever. He could stew on it all he liked on the way to Paris. He had to trust that he and Benji would have time to make this fledgling thing between them take off.

Benji
New Year's Eve 2013
Paris

Benji hoped Will wasn't paying too close attention to the way he was getting from Dublin to Gibraltar. Paris wasn't exactly en route, but he'd found four hours of wiggle room in the itinerary and had made an executive decision. He had to see Ethan once more before the year was over, or at least try.

They'd been apart for ten days, working separate ends of a mission that would take Benji to Gibraltar and Ethan to either Cairo or Istanbul depending on how the rest of his time in Paris played out. Benji didn't care that he'd spent Christmas eating cold takeout, hunched over his computer in the safe house. But New Year's Eve was different. He'd always sort of been superstitious about New Year's. His parents always said you should start the year with the person you want to end it with.

Ethan wasn't expecting him. They'd been able to trade some texts over secure burner phones, but they'd both been pretty busy. Work came first, Ethan had said. Benji didn't want to change Ethan. He knew Ethan lived and breathed the IMF. So did Benji, for lack of an alternative. But he missed Ethan, plain and simple. And he didn't have to pretend that he didn't anymore.

Benji wasn't 100 percent sure where Ethan was holed up. The Paris safe house tended to be a high traffic one, so it was moved every three months or so. But their mission was in a lull while the parties rearranged themselves on the metaphorical chessboard, so he had an idea where Ethan might be.

The café in the Latin Quarter looked more like a library than a place to eat and drink. It had books on very wall, stacked on every table. There were few patrons that close to midnight on New Year's Eve, which made it easy to pick out the one in the corner with the baseball cap covering feather-soft black hair, empty espresso cup at his elbow, nose buried in what looked like a Georgette Heyer reissue.

Benji went still as Ethan's eyes lifted from his book and their gazes locked. He hadn't acknowledged the small part of him that had worried Ethan wouldn't want to see him, that the night in D.C. had been some strange one-off, that Benji had imagined the fervor with which Ethan had responded to his kiss, his touch, to the revelation that they had each been harboring feelings for the other.

He shouldn't have been worried.

Ethan's eyes were just as Benji remembered them. Focused. Intense. All of that focus and intensity was honed in on Benji. He felt Ethan's stare like a caress from across the room. He hadn't made a mistake in coming here. Not when Ethan was looking at him like he was something edible.

Benji swallowed as Ethan put down his book, rose from his seat with his customary grace, and prowled forward.

"How long do we have?" Even his voice, so dearly familiar, reeked of something new. Ethan Hunt wanted him.

Just the thought made the blood drain from Benji's brain. "A little over three hours."

He watched Ethan make the calculations in his head. "My place is in the 18th." That was on the other side of the city, with thousands of revelers between here and there. "No point in trying to get there now," he added unnecessarily. It was New Year's Eve. Ethan didn't bother telling Benji that there was little chance of getting a hotel room in the heart of Paris at midnight.

Benji sagged a little in disappointment. Not that getting his hands on Ethan was all he cared about. Far from it. But it would have been nice to have some privacy. He struggled to say the right thing. "Ah. Well, we can at least toast the New Year."

"Yes, we can do that," Ethan agreed. "But not here." He returned to his seat to pick up his book and leave some Euros.

"How did you manage to get here?" Ethan asked as he lead them through the cobblestone streets, apparently intent on a specific destination.

"What Will doesn't know won't hurt him. Or you. This visit is strictly off the books," Benji said.

"Agent Dunn, are you circumventing protocol?" Ethan teased.

"Why, does it turn you on?" Benji joked. He choked on his laughter when Ethan suddenly pushed him against a darkened storefront, ground his hips against Benji's body, and put his mouth over Benji's ear.

"Fuck. Yes." Ethan's voice was a low growl and Benji felt every point of contact between them like an electric shock, from Ethan's iron grip on his arms, to the hardness of his chest pressed flush to Benji's, to the bulge in his jeans rocking against Benji's pelvis. Benji moaned, and answered Ethan's admission by attaching his mouth to Ethan's, licking his way inside with a savagery that surprised even him.

Ethan kissed him back just as fiercely, but their activity was interrupted by a band of drunken young people passing by, singing and skipping their way down the sidewalk.

They couldn't very well finish what they'd precipitously started here in the street.

Benji swore.

"Indeed," Ethan said, pulling away from him. "Sorry about that."

"Uh, no need to apologize. Maybe we should just get that drink." Before we jump each others' bones in the nearest dark alleyway. That was not what Benji had in mind for their next sexual encounter. He'd been fantasizing for weeks about getting Ethan alone, in a bed, with uninterrupted hours stretching out before them during which they could explore each other to their heart's content. Not wanking each other off in some dark corner of Paris. Though that admittedly held some appeal when it appeared to be the only option.

Ethan just started walking again, and Benji followed. He checked his watch. Six minutes to midnight. Ethan led them to an untrendy-looking bar, which was only half full. They had no trouble getting served matching glasses of whisky just as the clock hit midnight. Whistles and cheers erupted all around them.

"Happy New Year, Ethan," Benji said. He didn't think they were exactly in a position to kiss each other at the moment. But it was enough to clink glasses, to see Ethan's eyes crinkle warmly at him when he said, "Happy New Year."

"To 2014," Benji said, inanely. But he had to say something or else he'd spontaneously combust from lust.

"2014," Ethan said. "This century is just flying by."

Benji took a sip of his whisky and enjoyed the pleasant burn as it warmed him from the inside out. "Do you have any resolutions for the year ahead?"

Ethan considered. "I can think of a couple," he said, an impish grin on his face.

Benji wondered if it would be forward to assume that Ethan's resolutions has something to do with him.

"What about you? Got anything you want to work on in the coming year?" Ethan said. He didn't volunteer his resolutions and Benji's sanity might not have been able to stand it if he had.

"I think my resolution for this year is the same as the one for last year. Wear a bloody mask," Benji said, only half joking.

Ethan laughed. "It's really not all that exciting. They're hot and itchy and—"

"I know, I know. But all the cool kids get to do it. Benji wants to do it, too."

They laughed and whiled away some of their precious time together sipping and talking. Benji counted it as a victory every time he made Ethan laugh, and every time he didn't drag him to the men's room to do filthy things with him.

Ethan caught him checking his watch. "Station?"

"Gare du Nord."

If he could get a taxi, it might only be a fifteen minute trip, but there was no guarantee he'd get one. He'd probably have to walk. And that meant he'd have to leave soon.

Ethan's eyes took on a hint of darkness. "Ah. I'll walk with you."

"Okay." The settled their tab and went back out into the night. It was chilly, but Benji didn't feel the cold. He felt Ethan's heat spiraling off of him, walking nearly shoulder to shoulder through the streets of Paris.

"This thing with the…you know…if we can get it wrapped up, we'll probably be synched up again on the next mission," Benji said. "We'll have more time to…talk."

"Talk. Right." Ethan nodded.

"And do other stuff."

Ethan chuckled. "Sounds good, Benji."

Benji wasn't sure how to phrase this next thought. Even though he would gladly die for Ethan if he had to, they didn't talk about it. "Good luck," was the extent of the pep talks they usually got in the IMF. But even though he trusted Ethan to be up to the challenge that any baddie could throw his way, it seemed unnatural not to say it, especially when he wouldn't be around in person to help it come true. "Stay safe, Ethan." He thought he'd successfully managed to sound sincere without being smothering.

"You too," Ethan said evenly.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Perhaps there was nothing more to say.

When the lights of the station lit up the end of the boulevard, Benji stopped. "I better go on alone." There was nothing like a train station for surveillance.

"Right." Ethan sighed. "Thanks for coming, Benji. Good to see you."

Benji stared as Ethan offered him a hand to shake. "You loon," he said, and pulled him into an embrace. Ethan hugged him back, and Benji was about to make as graceful an exit as possible when Ethan murmured into Benji's ear. "I'm so fucking hard right now."

Just like that, he was all keyed up again, blood zipping to his own returning erection.

"Ethan, please." Benji heard his own voice begging, but he didn't know what for. Ethan's hands were stroking his back, his arms. They were in the shadows of a bus stop, shielded from the few passersby.

"Are you sure you can't stay a little longer? My place isn't that far, now that we're over here."

"I can't. You know I can't."

"There are so many things I want to do with you," Ethan said. "I don't want to wait."

"I know, but—this isn't just about sex, Ethan. We ought to take things slow anyway."

"Of course it's not just about sex, but…" Ethan got a plaintive look on his face. "…you're fucking hot, Benji Dunn."

Benji couldn't do anything but kiss him, the heat between them searing. He tore himself away, panting, hard as steel in his trousers.

"Christ. I have to go."

"I know." Ethan's face reflected Benji's own internal conflict. "I'll be dreaming about you," Ethan whispered.

Benji's knees went weak and he had trouble extricating himself from Ethan's arms. Mostly because he didn't want to. But he forced himself to nod, to back away, and finally, to turn and leave Ethan standing alone.

The final block walk to the train station was uncomfortable, physically and mentally, as Benji tried to calm his neglected libido and get his head back into the game. Serves me right, Benji thought. Anyone who walks away from a horny Ethan Hunt deserves whatever punishment he gets.

Chapter Text

Ethan
February 2014
Marseilles, France

Ethan climbed the steps to the dockside safe house silently. He was ahead of schedule, for once, not expected until morning, but he'd caught a break and an earlier train. Agents Chan and Dunn had stayed over in Marseilles to wait for him before heading to London for debriefing and then new orders.

He'd been to this safe house once before. Before he used the keypad to enter, he recalled the layout in his mind's eye. Kitchen. Bath. Two bedrooms. Common room with a lumpy couch. He wondered which bedroom Benji had claimed. He imagined himself softly slipping through the apartment, locating Benji's room, seeing his friend unguarded in sleep. He thought about sliding into the bed, wrapping himself around Benji, sleeping soundly for the first time in recent memory.

He couldn't. They hadn't seen each other since New Year's Eve. Aside from a few phone calls and some innocuous messages, they had been focused on work. Work had been busy, but more than that—no one else knew that their relationship had changed. It seemed unwise to divulge any personal details over even supposedly secure channels.

Ethan unlocked the safe house door. The interior was dark, but his eyes were already adjusted so he had no trouble making out the couch in the common area. He set down his small bag and laid down on the couch, not bothering to change out of his travel clothes. Morning would come soon enough. The couch was as lumpy as he remembered, and he stared at the ceiling, trying to breathe calmly through his frustrations.

He wanted to see Benji so badly, and now that he was mere feet away, he didn't have the power to cross that final distance. Those stolen hours in Paris had been wonderful and terrible. He'd been caught up in the romance, in the excited, on-edge feeling of being with someone you really cared about, really wanted to be with, and circumstances being what they were, he'd been left feeling like there was so much left unsaid. So much left undone.

And he had no idea what to do next.

Sometime in the last few weeks, he realized he'd been completely naive about how his relationship with Benji would unfold. Somehow he'd thought the hardest part of all this would be telling Benji how he felt. The miraculous thing turned out to be Benji feeling the same way about him. All of that hadn't been easy—it had taken two years, for god's sake. But this next part was turning out to be incredibly difficult to navigate.

He'd done the same thing when he'd met Julia. He'd seen her, fallen for her, and thought everything would work out. He'd stopped going in the field, started training. He'd thought that would be enough. Of course, it hadn't been, and he was terrified of making the same mistake again.

This time, Benji knew going into it what Ethan's job was like. But so far what had been sacrificed was them, not the job. Everything was upside down; Ethan didn't know how to do his work and be in a relationship at the same time. He wanted to take Benji away, someplace where just the two of them could be alone. But having to ask for that would seem like too much of an admission that making this work was maybe was more important to Ethan than to Benji.

And as much as it appealed in the boring, weary moments of the life of an IMF field agent to walk away from everything and take time for himself, Ethan was worried about this so-called Syndicate. He was irritated that they couldn't get a clear picture of what they were dealing with. They got snippets, here and there. They put out a few fires and simultaneously missed some things. They couldn't be everywhere at once. It was proving to be very difficult to get evidence of what Ethan instinctively knew was happening—a new entity, the edges of which were so far impossible to grasp. He knew something big was forming in the shadows.

And he'd never get to the bottom of it if he was focused on his own love life.

He sighed and turned on the couch, trying to find a comfortable spot in spite of the lumps.

"Ethan?" Benji stood in the doorway of the common room, looking groggy. He wore a long sleeve thermal tee and flannel pajama bottoms. His hair was sticking up all over his head and he looked like he had about a week's worth of beard on his chin. A wave of longing hit Ethan so hard he felt like he'd been sucker punched.

"It's me," Ethan said. Benji shuffled forward. Ethan sat up, made room on the couch. Benji dropped beside him, leaving a foot of space between them.

This wasn't fair. Ethan wanted this to be easier. To know that he could reach over and hold Benji and it would be welcomed, expected, allowed. To hold his hand and kiss him hello and do all those little, unconscious things that couples did. Ethan wanted it so badly, he couldn't speak. And yet, he couldn't bridge that foot of space between them, either.

And then something extraordinary happened. Benji said, "I'm glad you're here," and he wound his hands around Ethan's neck, brought him close, kissed him on the mouth. Then Benji, darling, perfect Benji, pulled him down, rearranging their legs so they were sharing the lumpy couch, Ethan's head on Benji's chest, Benji's hands stroking Ethan's hair softly until he fell asleep.

Benji
February 2014
Marseilles/Chunnel

Benji woke up with a start, disoriented for a moment at not being in the bed he had fallen asleep in the previous night. There was gray light at the windows and his arms were full of the warm, solid presence of a sleeping Ethan Hunt. He heard no other noises in the flat, so he assumed Lila, that was, Agent Chan, was still asleep. He didn't feel like dealing with explaining why he and Ethan were sleeping on a couch together, so he'd have to move before she woke up.

He could afford a moment to enjoy the sensation of Ethan's weight on top of him. Benji had spent many hours during their time apart imagining just what he'd do once they were together again. As ever, he couldn't actually do anything about any of the approximately one million fantasies he'd had about Ethan in the last weeks.

What they needed was a vacation—just the two of them, a bed. Perhaps access to Thai takeaway and a shower. That sounded like heaven as long as he had Ethan there with him. And no interruptions. The things he wanted to do to—with—Ethan couldn't be rushed.

Benji has imagined the first time they have penetrative sex many times, but never in his imaginings was it snuck into the moments between operations, forced to be quiet and quick. That was not the memory he wanted of his first time doing that with Ethan. Not that he was entirely certain that Ethan even wanted to have penetrative sex with Benji. That, like so many things, has been left out their conversations.

He shifted, realizing that thinking about this stuff has him half hard. Ethan stirred on top of him, slowly raising his head and giving Benji a sleepy smile. Benji's heart flip flopped in his chest. He could get used to Ethan smiling at him like that first thing in the morning.

"Hey," Ethan said.

"Hey." There was a moment of stillness where they just looked at each other. Benji remembered kissing Ethan late last night, when he'd almost thought he was dreaming when he saw the man himself in the safe house, four hours ahead of schedule. But should he kiss him now? They probably had morning breath and Lila could come in any minute and everything was so new and—

Ethan climbed off of him easily, breaking the spell, saving him from indecision. "We've got a train to catch."

"We do." Benji couldn't make himself move off the couch quite yet.

"I'm going to change."

"Right."

"Benji—oh!" A tall woman with black hair pinned back into a soft bun stood in the doorway to the common room. Lila Chan and Benji had spent the majority of the last six weeks working together, and he saw her take in his position on the couch, Ethan's sock-clad feet, the sleep creases on Ethan's face, and probably half a dozen other telling details in about three seconds. She overcame her surprise and smiled at Ethan. "Good to finally meet you in person, Agent Hunt."

"Good to meet you, Agent Chan." Ethan nodded, smiled back slightly. "I'm going to get ready for the train." Benji admired his cool delivery and how he refrained from offering anything in the way of excuse or explanation. He was smooth as butter.

"We depart in twenty minutes," Lila said. "Get in gear, Dunn."

"Aye aye."

Ethan grabbed his bag and unerringly headed toward the single bathroom. Lila raised her eyebrows at Benji but didn't say anything except, "If we hurry we can get coffee at the station."

"I'm going, I'm going." Benji stood up and stretched the kinks out of his back. That really was a dreadfully uncomfortable sofa. Odd, he had slept like a rock the entire time.

***

Benji looked up from his laptop and at Ethan sitting across the small train compartment from him. Lila had left the compartment a few minutes earlier on a search for more caffeine.

"What is wrong?"

Ethan had been jiggling his leg up and down for the past five minutes. He wasn't prone to nervous ticks. Ethan, when there was downtime during travel, was usually calm, almost meditative. He conserved his energy, because there was nothing more certain than he'd need it all plus more sometime in the near future. Benji had seen him fall asleep in a number of cars, buses, even helicopters, when danger wasn't imminent, of course.

As far as Benji knew, there was no danger to them at the moment. So why was Ethan nervous?

"I just hate the Chunnel," Ethan said briefly.

"Really?" Benji frowned. "Why?"

Ethan let out a mirthless laugh. "Long story. What are you working on again?"

"Upgrading the encryption of our cellular devices. I just got the script running."

"Maybe we could…talk? Since Agent Chan is busy?"

"Talk. Yeah. Sure. We should talk." Benji nodded vigorously. He chewed on his glasses for a beat. "What should we talk about?"

"Well, for one thing, we need to think about if we're going to tell anyone at work about…us."

Benji could help the swell in his chest at Ethan's words. There was an "us." A "them." He was part of a couple and even though the road to get here had been strange and uneven, Ethan still wanted to be with him. It was fairly unbelievable. He gathered himself together to answer Ethan's query.

"Right. I suppose it's inevitable that someone is going to find out. I mean, we work with spies, so shame on them if they don't figure it out, honestly."

"Does Agent Chan know?"

"I'm sure she has her suspicions after this morning, but she won't say anything."

Ethan sighed. "I guess we should tell Will, and let him figure out how we should tell the higher-ups."

"How did it work with you and Julia?" Perhaps Benji shouldn't have asked, but he was honestly curious.

"Things were different back then. Different leadership. Different circumstances. They weren't happy about me 'throwing away my field career,' as they called it, but they were happy enough to make me a trainer. That was my idea. I thought it would make everything okay." He let out another mirthless laugh. "When you're wrong, you're wrong, I guess."

Benji saw the shadow pass over Ethan's eyes and he regretted saying anything. He set his laptop aside and moved to sit next to Ethan. They had enough privacy that he could put his hand over Ethan's, the connection shielded from any possible surveillance by the angle of their bodies. He hated that he even had to think about that, that he couldn't just demonstrate his affection for Ethan in normal, open ways. But for now, this would have to do. He squeezed Ethan's hand, and Ethan looked up at him, grateful.

"I'm sorry I brought it up."

"No, it's fine," Ethan said. He didn't pull his hand away. "This is different. We're both field agents. You're right that they're going to find out. They might as well find out on our terms."

"Okay. So when we get to London, we'll call Will and figure it out."

"Okay." It seemed to Benji like a pretty momentous step to tell the IMF that they were together, when they had barely even been in the same room more than a handful of times over the past couple of months.

"What will we tell them?" Benji asked. "You know—like, we're dating? Um, I guess?"

Ethan smiled at Benji's awkwardness. "Dating? Don't you have to go on dates to call it dating?"

"We went to that Thai place that one time," Benji reminded him. "And that bar in Paris."

"Those weren't real dates," Ethan said. "Just wait until I can plan a real date."

Benji grinned. He knew Ethan had a romantic streak in him. He'd probably pull out all the stops in some embarrassing over the top way. Since most of Benji's previous boyfriends considered ordering pizza and sloppily fucking after watching the latest superhero flick on Blu-Ray proper dates, he found himself looking forward to dating, Ethan Hunt-style.

"So not dating, then," Benji clarified. "We're…boyfriends?"

Ethan looked askance at that. "I'm going to be 50 this year. I don't think I qualify to be someone's boyfriend."

"Jesus fuck, you're old," Benji teased. "All right. Then how do you want to describe 'us' to the IMF?"

Ethan looked down, seemingly at their joined hands. He swallowed. Benji had asked the question in exasperated jest, but he had a feeling Ethan was about to get super real. He looked up, met Benji's gaze with those beautifully intense eyes.

"Benji, you've been my friend for a long time. You're one of the only people in the world who has my complete trust. You knew me when I was with Julia. You saw how happy she made me. You saw me try to do both—to have both her and the IMF in my life. You saw me fail. What you didn't see was me coming to realize that the reason I failed was because I didn't know who I was. I thought I was was a different person, who wanted different things, who would be happy making different choices. Losing Julia—it was—hard. But what I finally realized was the person I was when I was with her wasn't me. But the person I am with you—" Ethan's eyes shone with something like awe "—that person is more me than I could ever have hoped to be able to be. If that makes any sense at all." He smiled, crooked, hopeful, a little shy.

Benji smiled, though he was positive Ethan would be able to see tears at the corners of his eyes. "So what you're saying is, the person you are with me…you like that person?"

"Very much." Ethan nodded. "I know I can be…intense. Focused. Driven."

Benji nodded in agreement.

"But you make me feel like that's okay. You trust me to know my own limits. You make me laugh. You remind me that there's a world outside whatever puzzle we're trying to solve. And you know, I'm just lucky—" Ethan broke off. Now Benji could have sworn there were tears at the corner of his eyes. Ethan took a deep breath and started again "—that I know you. You're brilliant, Benji, in every sense of the word. You shine. You make saving the world fun, instead of a thankless task. You make me better at what I do. You make the IMF better. And I guess I'm just attracted to brilliant, beautiful men who make me laugh."

Benji was astonished. What had he done to deserve the admiration of a man like Ethan Hunt? He supposed he had saved the world a couple of times over the years. He'd upgraded the tech they used in the field, had improved their hacking ability, mentored some of the insanely gifted up-and-comers. He'd been there for Ethan through thick and thin. Through Julia's death, through broken bones, through one tight spot after another. He even broke him out of prison that one time.

"Did you know that no one called me Benji before you?"

Perhaps it seemed to Ethan that this was a non sequitur. "What are you talking about?"

"The first time we met. I told you my name was Benjamin. You asked if anyone ever called me Ben or Benji."

"I did?"

"No one had ever called me Benji but I thought maybe it was an American thing. I knew about you, had heard some stories. On some level I probably wanted your approval. So I said Benji and you just went with it."

"Are you serious?" Ethan looked half shocked, half confused.

"I've been known as Benji ever since. And you know what?"

"What?"

"I was reborn that day. I was forever changed because I'd met you. I didn't know everything that would eventually happen. But I knew that my life would never be the same." Benji stroked his thumb over Ethan's knuckles. "I like that person. The person who didn't give up after failing the field exam. The person who isn't afraid to do whatever it takes to do the right thing. You taught me that. You saw that I had that inside me.

"You gave that person a name, Ethan. I'm Benji Dunn because of you. And I like Benji Dunn."

"I like Benji Dunn, too," Ethan whispered. "In fact, I l—"

Benji heard the compartment door's latch snick open and his hand was off of Ethan's and in his own lap before Lila stuck her head through the opening. "I wasn't sure how you took your coffee, Ethan. Hope black's okay."

She set two cups down on the table between the seats, kept one back for herself.

"Black's fine," Ethan said lightly, reaching for a cup.

The thought of coffee made Benji nauseous. Or perhaps it was the fact that Ethan had been about to say something irreversible and Benji couldn't decide if he was chagrined or relieved that he hadn't been able to say it.

Not to mention that they were no closer to figuring out what to tell the bloody IMF.

Chapter Text

Benji
February 2014
London

It turned out that they didn't have to call Will from London, because he was already there. He quickly debriefed the team on the Dublin-Paris-Gibraltar-Cairo-Marseilles adventure they'd just wrapped up.

"Good work, agents," he said formally as they ended the meeting. Benji always smirked internally when Will was in bureaucrat mode. It seemed like he was playacting the part of the responsible adult. Benji knew better.

"Right now our mission is to continue gathering as much evidence as we can about this 'Syndicate.' Right now we're having trouble getting anything solid enough to bring to the brass upstairs. But we know someone, or some organization, is probably behind the increased activity we've seen.

"Lila, we're sending you to Shanghai immediately. Hook into the organized crime world and see what you can dig up. Ethan, you'll stay in London under deep cover and find out what you can from your contacts in Western Europe. Benji, there's a request from headquarters that you return to D.C. and help them troubleshoot the latest virtual reality software."

Benji glanced at Ethan, who was impassive. "When?"

Will glanced at his watch. "I can have you on a plane in six hours."

Benji swallowed. Six hours. That was nothing.

He nodded.

"Dismissed," Will said, standing up from his chair.

Lila shook hands with the three of them in turn. "Until next time," she said, with an inscrutable smile.

When she'd gone, Ethan said, "Can I buy you and Benji some lunch?"

They found a pub two blocks away. The three of them ordered pints of beer while they waited for their steak and kidney pies. Benji usually enjoyed it when his work took him to London. He felt comfortable in the city, even though he'd grown up in a different part of England. But today, the beer was flat and his appetite was nonexistent.

Six hours.

He was getting tired of having to say goodbye to Ethan.

"So, Will," Ethan said, his voice deceptively casual. "Benji and I have something to tell you. Off the record."

Will's eyebrows shot up. "What's up, guys?"

"We're in a relationship." Ethan's delivery couldn't have been more nonchalant.

Will's eyebrows remained near his hairline. He didn't say anything for a moment.

"I think you broke him," Benji said. If he hadn't been so miserable thinking about their impending separation, he might have enjoyed this more.

"No. No. I'm fine," Will spit out. He ran a hand over his face. "You're in a relationship," he said, his voice resigned. Before they could react, he said, "Don't get me wrong. I'm really happy for you." His voice warmed up, and he made eye contact first with Ethan, then Benji. Benji knew he wasn't just saying it. Will was a good guy. He knew what Ethan had been through better than almost anyone. Will would be happy to see him moving on.

"It's not the best time to rock the boat, is all," Will said finally. "We're this close to a full-blown CIA investigation." He put his index finger and thumb an inch apart. "If they hear that our best field agent and our best tech agent are—" he paused delicately. When neither Ethan nor Benji jumped to fill in the blank, he went on "—together, they might use it as the excuse they need to start digging around. And we can't afford that. You know that since the Kremlin incident we've been on thin ice with the CIA."

Ethan nodded. Benji was aware that they were on a shorter leash than they used to be. But he couldn't have predicted his love life being the straw that broke that particular camel's back.

"All I'm saying is, we can't give them any more ammunition. So how do you guys feel about keeping this to yourselves?"

Benji glanced at Ethan and they exchanged a look. Ethan did a thing with his eyebrows and Benji nodded.

"That suits us," Ethan said. "On two conditions."

"Which are?" Will asked tiredly.

"One—you don't treat us any differently. You assign us the same way you would before you knew about this. We're professionals. We can still work together. And we'll work apart when we have to."

"Agreed."

"Two—adjust Benji's current itinerary. Give both of us 48 hours leave. He can get to headquarters a couple of days behind schedule. No one will even notice."

"Gee, thanks," Benji said defensively. "I mean, right. 48 hours. Take it or leave it, Will," he added in a toughened up voice.

Will leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest. "I can make that happen."

Benji felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and he grinned at Ethan. Two whole days. A small miracle.

"Thanks, Will," Ethan said.

"Don't mention it," Will said. "It's not like both of you guys haven't saved my life a couple times. It's the least I can do."

"A couple? Try five." Benji scoffed.

"Five? No way." Will dug into his lunch.

"There was Wistram, for starters. And that assassin in Kabul. Plus that thing with the guy in Vegas that one time. And don't forget the computer array in Mumbai."

"That doesn't count—you almost roasted me alive and then dismembered me with flying metal robot pieces!"

"That wasn't my fault. The science was sound!"

Benji laughed. Will laughed. Even Ethan laughed.

Later, when Ethan was at the register settling the bill, Will turned to Benji with a serious expression. "Listen—I said I was happy for you, and I am. Ethan's been through a lot and I know you're good for him. But I just want to make sure you're looking out for yourself."

"What? You think I'm in some kind of danger?" The devastation on Will's face when he described Julia's murder rose up in Benji's mind's eye unbidden.

"It's true that Ethan has powerful enemies. But you can take care of yourself. And Ethan's sure as shit going to be looking out for you, too." Will glanced over at Ethan. His back was to them. He was chatting with the barman. "I'm thinking more about how Ethan can be—protective of the people he cares about. Protective to the point of self-sacrifice. Are you sure you know what you're getting into? Both of you?"

Benji was at a loss. He couldn't honestly say that he did know what he was getting into. He'd never been with someone like Ethan before. Someone who could kill with his bare hands, climb the tallest building in the world with nothing but some sticky gloves against a ticking clock, and sprint a fucking mile in a sandstorm. He'd never been with someone who made him feel so alive or so useful. He'd never been with someone who made him want to do everything in his power to bring a smile to their face.

He'd do anything for Ethan.

Will knew that. Will would, too. But Ethan hadn't fallen for Will, thank the heavens. He'd fallen for quirky, nerdy Benji. And Benji would do anything to make sure Ethan never regretted a second of it.

He could tell that Will was only trying to look out for Benji's heart. But couldn't he see? It didn't matter what happened to Benji or his heart. It only mattered that he could make Ethan happy.

Will had been there when Ethan had lost the most important thing in his universe. But Benji had been there to see Ethan come back to life afterward. Ethan had even told him that Benji had helped him be able to be himself. Julia hadn't done that. Benji had. Benji wasn't jealous of a dead woman. On the contrary, he mourned her. He missed her, even. He ached for Ethan. If he could bring Julia back and make Ethan whole again, he'd do it. In a second. Even if it meant he'd lose the man he loved more than life.

But he couldn't. No one could. The past was past. Perhaps Will was too caught up in it. Perhaps he couldn't see that Benji was Ethan's future.

"Thanks, Will," Benji said finally. "I'm aware that being with Ethan isn't going to be easy. We both come with baggage. But we're—we have to try."

Will seemed to accept that. "Well, let me know if there's anything else I can do. Two days of vacation doesn't seem like much. You two have been working different ops since before Christmas, haven't you?"

Benji was pleased that he'd apparently been able to slip the Paris visit under Will's notice. "We'll be okay," he said, even though the two days would pass in the blink of an eye. He'd take it.

Ethan came back to the table. "Sorry that took so long."

"No worries. I've got to get back to the office," Will said. "And you—you two don't have any time to waste."

***

Ethan
February 2014
London

Two days. In London. With Benji.

They'd be back to doing what they did best in two days. For now, Ethan was giving himself permission to pretend the rest of the world didn't exist. Will had gone, and he and Benji were walking aimlessly around the financial district.

"What are you thinking about?" Benji asked.

They hadn't spoken since they left the pub. "Honestly, I'm thinking that all I want to do for the next 48 hours is have you to myself. I don't want to see anyone or go anywhere. I just want you. Does that sound okay?"

Benji laughed. "You read my mind. So, we need to hole up somewhere. Hotel?"

"I've got a friend with a flat nearby. I wonder if it's currently occupied."

"Why don't you find out? I'll get some provisions. Meet you in an hour?"

"It's a plan."

***

The flat was modern and comfortable, with a fantastic view of Hyde Park. The owner, who owed Ethan a favor anyway, was out of town and Ethan hadn't had any trouble getting into the place, despite lack of a key. Benji showed up five minutes after Ethan, laden with four carrier bags.

They unloaded the food, mostly prepared meals, bread, cheese, wine. Benji stuck one of the bags in the bedroom before Ethan could get a peek in it.

Domestic tasks accomplished, Ethan said, "I'm going to shave. I didn't have time this morning." Waking up on the couch in Marseilles at dawn felt so long ago. But it felt good to have spent the majority of the day with Benji, even with the emotional ups and downs they'd experienced. It was like it was when they worked missions together. He'd missed it.

"Yeah, I was thinking of taking a shower," Benji said. He'd been quiet this afternoon. Ethan thought he'd have been happy to have their time extended. But perhaps he'd been presumptuous.

They got their toiletries out of their overnight bags. "You go ahead," Ethan said, suddenly feeling awkward. Which was ridiculous. He shook his head at himself.

"Um, let me hop in, then you can go ahead and use the—" Benji seemed as nervous as Ethan, which helped a little.

They managed to tiptoe around each other enough that Benji was in the shower, with its opaque glass door, steam filling up the small bathroom, when Ethan took up at the sink. He didn't look on purpose, but he could see the general outline of Benji behind the glass. He swallowed. He'd been longing to have exactly this situation, time alone with the man he craved, and now that he had it, it seemed like neither of them knew how to proceed.

He went the through motions of shaving. He brushed his teeth. Benji shut off the water. Ethan handed him a towel unprompted over the top of the shower door.

"Thanks."

Benji emerged, skin reddened from the hot water, towel wrapped firmly around his waist.

"You brushed your teeth," Benji said.

"Yes."

"I better brush mine."

Ethan moved to the side and let Benji do just that. He probably should have left, waited for him in the living room. Or the bedroom. But he couldn't make his feet take him out of there. He needed to be with Benji, in his space, breathing his air. He couldn't get enough of the sight of his friend, of his friendly blue eyes, his smart mouth, of the line of his spine, the curve of the muscles of his arms. It felt like such a luxury to simply look at Benji and not have to slide his gaze away when it felt like he'd been looking longer than a friend should look.

He was allowed to look now. Benji was watching him in the mirror. Watching him watch him. Ethan suddenly remembered that he hadn't had sex, except for that one (mind-blowing, too fast) time on Benji's couch, in three and a half years. It was a hell of a dry spell. It explained why he was fully hard just looking. He loved the way Benji looked. He loved the way he tasted. Suddenly, saliva filled his mouth and he was overcome by an urgent need to taste Benji everywhere.

Benji rinsed out his mouth, put his toothbrush aside. Turned to Ethan. "You have the strangest look on your face," he said.

"I do?"

"You look like you're hungry."

"That's exactly what I am," Ethan said. He dropped to his knees, wrapped his arms around Benji's middle. He pressed kisses to the soft flesh of his abdomen, nosed the pale hairs around his navel. "I'm starving, Benji. It's been much, much too long."

"God, Ethan—" Benji's voice already sounded urgent. "Yes. Too long."

"Can I—?" He tugged at the towel covering Benji, loosening it.

"Uh. Yes. But—" Benji dropped down to get eye level with him. "—we've been taking it slow for a reason. We've got two days. I don't want to skip ahead to the end. I don't want to rush."

"Fuck, Benji," Ethan groaned. "Are you getting off on making me wait?"

Benji let out a high-pitched laugh. "Not at all, actually. But I'm trying to be the responsible one here. As usual."

"Benji, we're consenting adults in a relationship we just told our mutual friend about. We want each other. Stop thinking so much." He kissed Benji, hard and fierce. Benji melted into the kiss, letting Ethan lick into his mouth.

After a minute of desperate kissing, Benji pulled away, breathless. "Okay, fine. Whatever. Let's go to the bedroom and fuck each others' brains out already."

Ethan's cock leapt at Benji's phrasing. Laughing, they stumbled over each other trying to get up and get to the bedroom.

"Take off your bloody clothes," Benji demanded when they reached the king-sized bed. Ethan swiftly peeled off his layers, until he was in nothing but a pair of skin-tight boxer briefs that did nothing to hide how turned on he was. Then he shivered. The bathroom had been warm and cozy, but the rest of the flat hadn't yet warmed up, though Ethan had turned up the thermostat when they'd arrived.

Benji threw back the covers of the bed, dropped his towel in one swift move and dove into the sheets, a blur of skin. Ethan followed him, dropping his boxer briefs, swearing when it turned out the sheets were colder than the air in the flat.

Benji hissed. "Ugh. They'll warm up in a sec. Come here." He wrapped Ethan in his arms and they huddled together. Eventually they stopped cradling each other for warmth and instead started running their hands over each other.

Ethan reveled in Benji's firm biceps, in his bristle-covered chin, in the unmistakable hardness jutting out from between his legs. He'd never been naked with a man like this before. He spared half a second to acknowledge that yeah, it wasn't entirely different from being with a woman, but in some ways, it was so new Ethan felt like a sort of virgin. Benji's hands were large and callused as they stroked along Ethan's thighs, over his chest. Ethan had been with women who were taller than him before, but Benji had about three inches on him, and it changed the angles a bit. Plus, Benji seemed to instinctively know what would take Ethan's body from a general state of arousal to a needy mess in record time.

First, it was the purposeful rubbing of a calloused thumb over Ethan's nipples. Then it was the firm, experienced grip of his fist on Ethan's achingly hard cock, which felt so different from the way Ethan himself grasped it. Next, the slow but persistent way Benji's fingers slid from his cock to his balls, then behind them, over his perineum, reaching back farther and farther until—

"Holy fucking shit amazing fuck more." Ethan could not help the stream of nonsensical words coming out of his mouth as Benji pressed one finger firmly inside him.

Benji speared his tongue into Ethan's mouth as his finger pressed deeper into Ethan. Ethan felt invaded in the best possible way. He felt open. Indeed, his legs dropped open as Benji began to fuck him a little bit with that single digit. Benji was no longer touching his cock, but it didn't matter. He felt like he'd burst if Benji so much as breathed on it. He was gripping Benji's shoulders for dear life, clinging to him, clenching around him, sucking on his tongue like it was a popsicle. He had to—he needed—

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Benji was talking, and Ethan realized he was thrashing around in the bed. Benji eased his finger out of Ethan. "Sorry, was that too fast?"

"No, that was good," Ethan said. Catastrophic understatement aside, Ethan realized he was breathing as hard as if he'd just sprinted a mile. "I need—"

"To come?" Benji suggested with a smile.

"I need to make you feel good, too," Ethan said.

Benji's smile dropped away. No, that wasn't right. He wanted to make Benji feel good. "Ethan, lovely. Being with you feels amazing. Really. You're fucking gorgeous, which you well know. Making you feel good does make me feel good."

"I need to make you feel good," Ethan said again. In a war of stubbornness, Ethan knew he'd always win.

They stared at each other in a battle of wills for a long moment. Finally, Benji nodded. He slid out of the covers to grab the bag he'd placed there before. He shook out the contents on the bed. Two boxes of condoms. Two bottles of lube. Two energy bars. Two bottles of water.

Ethan grinned. "I like how you think, Benji Dunn."

Benji shrugged. "Always be prepared, right?" He placed the bars and the water on the nightstand, grabbed one of the bottles of lube and handed it to Ethan. "Go on, then. Make me feel good."

Ethan narrowed his eyes at Benji. Challenge accepted. It might have been a while since Ethan had had sex, but back in the day he'd been very good at it. And Ethan felt that this was a skill that could be brought back up to par with a little bit of practice.

With decades of self-discipline under his belt, Ethan forgot about the fact that his cock was throbbing with the need to come, and turned his entire focus onto Benji. First, he figured out how to open the lube, which took an embarrassingly long ten seconds. Then, he squirted a generous amount on his fingers. But he didn't wrap them around Benji's beautifully shaped, rosy red erect cock. Instead, he nudged Benji's knees apart and, in the reverse order that Benji had employed, he pressed a lube covered finger straight into Benji's waiting hole up to the first knuckle. Benji yelped and a spurt of clear fluid drizzled from the tip of his cock onto his stomach.

"Fucking hell. Where did you learn to do that?" Benji gasped.

"I'm a quick study, Dunn." He took in Benji's flushed cheeks, the way he grasped the sheets in his fists. "Do you want more?"

"Please, god, yes." Benji lifted his hips so that Ethan could have better access and Ethan felt a wave of something primeval and possessive come over him. Benji looked so incredible, naked and panting, wet and open for him. Ethan never wanted anyone else on the planet to get to see what Benji looked like when he was like this. He paused to press a searing kiss onto Benji's mouth, then went back to opening him up, slowly, carefully, but with a single-mindedness that could not leave any doubt as to where this was going.

Two fingers now, and Benji's cock was leaking steadily. Three fingers, and Ethan leaned over to swipe his tongue over the hardened buds of Benji's nipples. Benji was moaning, and his entire body was flushed red, like a ripe fruit Ethan wanted to devour. Ethan crooked his fingers inside Benji, and Benji howled. He noted with a distant satisfaction that he'd found Benji's prostate.

"Does that feel good, Benji?" he asked, voice dangerously soft.

"Fuck, yes, Ethan. Okay? You've made your bloody point." Benji was quivering.

Ethan slid his fingers out, slicked up his neglected erection with more lube. His focus had been so much on Benji that he'd barely even registered his own need for the past long minutes. But now, as he lined up the blunt head of his cock with the entrance he'd so carefully prepared, every sensation hammered his body, clamoring for attention. The shuffle of the sheets, the whistle of the radiators as they labored to stave off the midwinter chill, the scent of clean sweat and Benji's shampoo. "Okay?" he asked.

Benji's eyes were wide with desire. "Please."

Ethan slid forward, the awareness that this was tightest, hottest place he could slide his cock into making it seem all the more intensely pleasurable. The fact that it was Benji who trusted him to do this, who wanted him to do this—Ethan began to shudder almost uncontrollably. He shut his eyes, trying to get ahold of himself. But he'd kept his body in check for too long. "Benji—" he didn't know what he was asking for, only heard the desperation in his own voice.

"It's okay," Benji said. "Hey."

Ethan felt a palm cradle his cheek. He opened his eyes to see Benji propped up on an elbow, his other hand on Ethan's face. "It's okay," Benji said again.

"I need—" he said.

"What, lovely?"

"I need to come." Ethan said through gritted teeth, ashamed at his own inability to control himself, his needs.

"Then come." Benji dropped his hand and rocked back on his elbows, giving himself the leverage to cant his hips forward, pushing Ethan even deeper inside. "We've all the time in the world."

Ethan decided he trusted Benji enough to take him at his word. He started moving, short strokes at first, and then longer, deeper, harder ones, as Benji rose up to meet him every time. It was too much, too good, and Ethan's orgasm roared like a fire through a timber frame house, blazing hot, fast, and obliterating everything in its path.

He knew he was making noises, he knew he was moving past the point of comfort, he knew he was leaving Benji unsatisfied, but he had to let the euphoria of release take over, if only for a minute. When he came back to himself, to the fact that he and Benji were still locked together in the most intimate of positions, he took stock of the look of wonder on Benji's face, of the immense weariness that was overtaking his own body, of Benji's cock between them, how it was spurting out rope after rope of thick white come, completely untouched.

Ethan collapsed forward, catching himself on his forearms. He found Benji's mouth with his. "Um," he said with feeling.

"Yeah." Benji was breathing hard, his flush receding bit by bit.

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"You—came," Ethan said a bit superfluously.

"I fucking did," Benji said. "That's never happened to me before, like that."

"Really?" Ethan knew he needed to pull out, to get Benji in a more comfortable position. Just thirty more seconds. "Did it feel good?"

"It felt amazing. Of course you're setting the bar impossibly high, you know." Ethan was fairly sure that Benji was just teasing him.

"Impossibly high?" He kissed him softly. "Just you wait."

Chapter Text

Benji
February 2014
London

Benji glanced up from his phone to find Ethan watching him from the doorway of their borrowed bedroom.

"Everything okay?" Ethan asked.

"Will sent my itinerary. I have to be at Gatwick by nine."

Ethan didn't say anything, just nodded. They both knew their time was running out. They'd spent the entirety of the last 48 hours inside this borrowed flat, making love, eating, making love again. That's what it felt like to Benji, anyway. Making love. It didn't matter how creative or how filthy their couplings became, Benji felt cherished the entire time. Ethan didn't do anything halfway. And from the very start, even when Benji hadn't needed him to, hadn't even expected him to, he'd put Benji first.

It was humbling. Terrifying. Because they had to be apart again and Benji couldn't help but worry when he was far from Ethan. Not that Ethan wouldn't be able to take care of himself. Benji simply didn't trust any other living soul to back Ethan up the way he could back him up.

He had to leave soon, which meant there was a deadline for saying the thing he'd been thinking about saying pretty much for 48 consecutive hours.

Ethan came into the bedroom carrying a glass of water, which he set down on the bedside table next to Benji. Neither of them had bothered to fully dress for two days. Benji wore underwear and his glasses. Ethan had on an open button down oxford shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and boxer briefs. It was a good look on him. Benji swallowed.

I'm going to miss you so much. It was on the tip of his tongue. He meant it, desperately. But something told him he didn't need to actually say it. Ethan knew.

But the other thing. The other thing he'd been thinking about saying. He wanted to have the courage to get it out. He knew he'd regret it if he didn't, if then something…bad…happened. Ethan deserved to know. Hell, he probably already knew. So he should just say it.

"So." He cleared his throat noisily as Ethan sat down on the bed next to him. He wondered if after he'd gone Ethan would strip the bed, put on a load of laundry, wash away the evidence of their having been there. It would be the polite thing to do. Benji didn't know what Ethan's relationship to the owner of this flat was, but leaving sex sheets behind was never okay. On the other hand, he had a hard time imagining Ethan doing those domestic chores. Not that he wasn't capable. Ethan could do anything he set his mind to.

Benji sighed as he realized he'd been mentally babbling to avoid having to do the thing he was both aching and petrified to do.

"So," Ethan echoed. He scooted back a little, put his hands on Benji's shoulders and started kneading the tight muscles there. Benji melted under his touch. God, he'd never get tired of feeling Ethan's hands on him.

"Hmmm?" Benji said, lost for a minute in the hedonistic pleasure of getting a shoulder rub from Ethan Hunt. "Oh, right. I have to go soon."

"Will you let me know when you get there?"

"Sure. Of course." Benji was surprised, but pleased.

Ethan ran his hands over over the muscles in Benji's arms, down to his hands. He laced their fingers together, put his chin on Benji's shoulder. "I'm glad we had this time."

"Me too." Say it, Benji.

"I like the beard. Going to keep it?" Ethan nuzzled up against the growth on Benji's cheek.

"I might do." He'd missed a couple of days of shaving on the last mission and had been rather pleased with the way it had grown in. Say it.

Ethan leaned forward over Benji's back, tipped his head so he could kiss him. The angle was off and Benji tried to twist to make it easier, but they both just tumbled to the side, laughing and tangled up in each other. Benji ended up on his back, Ethan hovering over him, smiling at him, soft and warm.

Benji wanted to keep him here, always. Soft and warm and safe. Say it. He opened his mouth.

Ethan kissed him.

Ethan
Summer 2014
Odessa, Ukraine

Shit. Shit shit shit.

The mission had turned bad fast. Benji was on the fifteenth floor of a building that was rigged with explosives, while Ethan was trying not to lose sight of the asset. He'd been following him with Luther's assistance on the GPS for two miles across the city, which meant he was two miles away from Benji. Luther was in the van, trying to drive and bark directions at Ethan simultaneously.

"Luther tell Benji to get out of there."

"Turn left—no your other left." Luther's voice betrayed a trace of worry. Not a good sign. Ethan turned left, caught sight of the asset turning another corner.

"I have eyes on Parks. Make contact with Benji."

"If I radio him, they're going to pick up the signal. We'll be blown. Go straight."

"Just do it. Please." Benji had no idea how close the explosives were timed. He might not realize how much time he'd need to get out. Yes, the gang they'd been tracking might be able to trace their radio activity if Luther broke through to communicate with Benji, but Ethan had to take that chance. He threw himself through an open window, tackled Parks to the ground.

Thirty seconds later, Parks was unconscious, Ethan was bleeding from a shallow knife wound to his forearm, and Luther was screeching to a halt on the street. Ethan threw himself into the passenger side of the van.

"Did you reach him?" he asked Luther, unable to keep the sharp note of franticness out of his voice.

"I tried," Luther said. "He didn't respond, but I think he picked up my message."

"How far away are we?"

"You want me to drive toward the imminent explosion?" Luther's eyebrows were raised, but then he grumbled, "Four minutes."

Ethan checked his watch. "Not enough time." He slammed his fist on the dashboard the of the van in frustration. He hated feeling like this, like there was nothing he could do. And this time, Benji might be the one paying the price. "Wait—you could trip the fire alarm in the building, evacuate it."

"And draw even more attention to ourselves." Luther's habit of stating the obvious wasn't helping. Ethan knew this entire op had been completely fucked. Will was going to be so pissed, but he couldn't worry about that now.

"Look—we don't know exactly how long until the detonation. We have the intel from Parks—" Ethan patted the pocket of his jacket where the codes Parks had been carrying were located "—now we just need to minimize the collateral damage. If Benji can't circumvent the bomb, then we need to get him, and anyone else we can, out of the danger zone. The fact that Parks's gang has us made—we'll just have to deal with later."

Luther said nothing. "It's almost midnight. It's an office building. There's probably only a handful of people inside, if that."

Ethan knew Luther wasn't suggesting the collateral damage was acceptable. But they had to consider all the options. "One of those people is Benji, Luther."

Luther sighed. He toggled some buttons on the tablet set into the van's center console. "Are you sure about this?"

Ethan had to do whatever it took to keep Benji safe, and complete the mission. This was the only way he could think of. He was about to respond affirmatively, when Benji's voice broke into the van's communication system.

"Luther, can you read me? Repeat, I disabled the bomb. It's neutralized. If you can read me, I'm coming down and will meet you at rendezvous seven—shit—" a sharp rapport that sounded too much like gunfire ended the transmission.

"Benji!" Ethan shouted. There was no response.

The minutes that passed between Luther finally pulling the van to a stop in front of the office building, Ethan drawing his weapon, finding the lobby deserted, felt like hours. He was debating stairs or elevator when the bank of elevators in the lobby dinged softly and the doors to the nearest one slid open.

Benji tumbled out, covered in blood. Ethan's heart stopped, even as his legs propelled him forward, grabbing hold of Benji's body, running his hands over him, searching for the wound.

"Not mine," Benji said. "Ethan. Not my blood."

Ethan couldn't process the words. He kept searching; red stickiness had soaked into Benji's shirt, his trousers, had matted itself into Benji's beard, obscuring the origin of the blood.

"Ethan. Ethan, look at me. Look at my face. It's not my blood." Benji spoke calmly, if wearily. That was when Ethan noticed the semi automatic in Benji's hand. It wasn't a standard issue IMF model. Benji must have disarmed someone.

"You're okay," Ethan said.

Benji nodded. "I'm okay."

Ethan's heart started pumping again, gratefully pushing blood through his body, while his hand found the nape of Benji's neck, and he brought their foreheads together. "Jesus. I thought—"

"Could you hear? I stopped the bomb."

"Of course you did." Affection, relief, pride all bled into Ethan's words.

"But there were two of Parks's men waiting for me. I—" Benji hesitated "—I had to take them out."

"Of course," Ethan said again. "You did the right thing."

They were so close; Ethan needed to be closer. He'd have to wait until they could find somewhere safe, somewhere to clean up, and to clean up the mess they'd made of the op overall.

Luther burst into the lobby. "We need to move!"

"Let's go," Ethan said. Benji nodded, and they ran.

***

"This is insane! We stopped a fifteen-story office building from being leveled, saved who knows how many lives, gutted the Parks gang's operations, got high-level intel on an upcoming major chemical weapons sale, and we didn't lose a single agent." Ethan paced and fumed and railed against Will, who sat calmly in the only chair in the falling down house on the outskirts of town they'd been holed up in since the night Benji hadn't died in Odessa. Luther and Benji were out on a supplies run. "And they're putting us under investigation for misconduct? Come on, Will, this is bullshit."

"You know this isn't just about Odessa, Ethan. Moscow. Mumbai. Hell, take your pick of ops one the last few years. We've had some close calls. Some messy take downs." Will had come to deliver the bad news in person. Hearings were to start in the next couple of weeks. Since the last Secretary hadn't lasted more than six months, Will had found himself thrust into the position of having to defend the IMF on Capitol Hill and keep operations running smoothly at the same time. No matter the outcome of the hearings, Will had warned Ethan that changes would be coming.

"The entire point of IMF is to be able to operate outside of normal protocols and get things done."

"You don't have to tell me. But Hunley and the other suits in the CIA want our budget dollars. This isn't about oversight, it's about money. It's always about money."

Ethan sighed. He wasn't angry at Will. He was just…tired. He'd been fighting his entire life to do the right thing, and it always seemed his government, his agency, left him to do it on his own every time. Now this malevolent force, this Syndicate, was out there was gathering strength while the IMF was distracted with defending its very existence instead of helping stop this new evil from gaining a toehold on the world stage.

Ethan wished he didn't know what was going to happen next.

Not that he knew exactly, but he had a feeling. He'd be forced to choose between doing the right thing and doing the smart thing. And he was worried that he might have to choose between doing the right thing and keeping Benji. Their relationship hadn't made their jobs harder, but Ethan had found himself increasingly more troubled about his choices possibly putting Benji is more danger than he already was. He couldn't live with himself if Benji was hurt, or worse, as a direct result of Ethan's own actions. He couldn't keep Benji in a bubble, like he'd tried to do with Julia. But he could try to be as smart as possible. This IMF-CIA showdown meant that would get harder than ever.

Will pulled out his phone, glanced at the screen. "I need Luther in Malaysia. I'm going back to D.C. tonight. You and Benji head to Minsk, follow up on this chemical weapons sale. You do whatever you have to in order to keep those weapons out of the hands of the Syndicate."

"Are you sure there even is a Syndicate?" Ethan asked bitterly.

"Whatever you want to call it, it's real, Ethan. You know it and I know it. And I don't care what the fucking CIA thinks. You get out there and do your job." Will stood up, handed Ethan a flash drive. "Your mission."

Ethan took the drive, turned it over in his hand. Will was right. He had a job to do. Benji, too. He had to trust that things would turn out all right in the end.

"I guess we're going to Minsk."

Chapter Text

Benji
August 2014
Minsk

The day after Benji watched Ethan clinging to the side of an enormous airplane as it became airborne Ethan turned 50 years old. After he somehow safely landed a pallet of highly volatile chemical weapons in the Belarusian countryside and Benji negotiated the turnover of said weapons to Interpol, Will's orders had been to lie low. He had to prepare for those ridiculous hearings—Congress loved to give IMF a hard time, but Benji believed they'd be scared stiff to actually disband an agency that had saved their skins time and again.

"Take a couple of days off. It's Ethan's birthday. Relax." Will tried to inject his voice with jocularity, but Benji heard the strain. Will was worried that he wouldn't be able to talk his way out of this misconduct investigation.

"Will, it's going to be okay," Benji said. "They need us. They know they need us."

"Yeah," Will sighed. "You're probably right. I'll be in touch."

So Benji and Ethan found themselves with time to kill. They were already mobile, their gear stashed in the mud-spattered 4x4 they'd been driving since Odessa. They wrapped up the chemical weapons thing and drove southwest in the general direction of Warsaw, not much of a plan in mind except to stay under the radar.

"You're quiet today," Ethan said after about an hour during which the only conversation had been about which of Benji's playlists to cue up. Benji had argued for The Marriage of Figaro while Ethan had lobbied for Motown. They'd compromised on Miles Davis's Kind of Blue.

Benji glanced at Ethan, who was driving, his posture casual, looking rakishly handsome in a thin gray sweater and jeans. Benji had never figured out how Ethan always looked so good when they were constantly on the move, living out of a suitcase, or worse. He could make stolen clothes that barely fit him look like the next big fashion trend. Benji, on the other hand, always felt wrinkled and too-casual next to his handsome, effortlessly stylish partner. He should upgrade his wardrobe one of these days.

Benji hummed in response.

He counted six mile markers before Ethan spoke again. "Seriously, is something wrong?"

"Does something have to be wrong because I'm not talking your ear off?"

"You have to admit, it's not your usual m.o."

Benji sighed, paused the jazz. "Look, I know it's your birthday and I shouldn't bring this stuff up right now. I've been holding my tongue because if I get started I might not be able to stop, and you might not like some of the things I have to say. But we never know how much time we have together so I suppose I should just get this off my chest before we get sent to opposite ends of the earth again. You gave me a heart attack yesterday, Ethan. You jumped onto a moving airplane and if I hadn't figured out how to open the door, you would have eventually dropped hundreds of feet to the ground right in front of me and become jelly. And then you parachuted out of a plane with 450 canisters of poison strapped to your back."

Benji finally paused to take a breath.

Ethan's eyebrows were raised. "So?"

"So?" Benji knew he was shouting, but he felt like shouting, dammit. "So, Ethan, what if I hadn't opened the door? What if you didn't have the wind on your side or your chute had failed or those canisters hadn't been packed right or you'd landed in the middle of a military base? What if your luck, golden though it may be, ran out?"

"But it didn't," Ethan said. "Everything turned out fine." Ethan's even tone seemed designed to rile Benji up further.

"That's not the point! The point is I love you too much to watch you fall to your death right in front of me, okay? You've had too many close calls. Even cats only have nine lives, Ethan. How many have you used up?"

Benji belatedly realized exactly how loud he'd been yelling, and he snapped his mouth shut. He might have overshared there a bit. But it was too late to call the words back.

"You love me?" Of course that's the bit that Ethan would stick on.

They hadn't said the words. Benji had thought them every day for what seemed like forever. But after the window had passed during their tryst in London in February, he'd never managed to get the words out. And the longer he went without saying them, the more awkward it felt like it would be.

He figured they were just one of those couples who didn't say I love you. Their love was implied in everything they said and did. The way they fucked, frantic and desperate after being separated. The way they made love, slow and careful, when they had more time and space to call their own. The way they texted each other about nothing on their burner phones when they couldn't manage to see each other. The way they had each other's backs whether they were at the office or on a mission. The way they made out in the back row of the movie theater instead of watching the movie.

But they didn't say the words.

Benji convinced himself he didn't need to say it. Ethan knew. He must know. And maybe Ethan thought it was bad luck or something to say it so baldly, so starkly. But now the sentiment was out there, in the most basic way possible. And Benji felt good about it, actually.

"I love you," he confirmed. "Of course I love you, you idiot."

Ethan smiled.

Suddenly, Benji's frustration, his fear, his indignation over Ethan's crazy risks evaporated. "I love you, Ethan. But you're not invincible. You're fifty years old, for christ sakes."

"Hey!"

"Yeah, I know you can out run, out jump, out shoot, out crazy anyone at the IMF," Benji said. He believed it wholeheartedly. "But you know, one of these days you're going to take it too far." He softened his voice. "And then where will I be?"

Ethan took his foot off the gas, guided the vehicle into a turnout. They were in a highly wooded area. Lush green forest spiraled outward in every direction. When the car was in park, Ethan turned to Benji.

"I'm sorry about the plane thing. It just seemed like the thing to do at the time. And you know what—I wasn't scared. I wasn't scared because I knew you were there, you had my back. You made it happen. I might be the one running and jumping and shooting, but Benji—you're making it possible for me to be fast, to be accurate. You've always been that for me. Don't you remember Shanghai?"

"Of course." Benji remembered being terrified to be helping a fugitive, being more terrified that if he didn't help him, Ethan might die and Benji would never get to see his too-handsome face ever again.

"I know it seems like I take a lot of risks—"

"Understatement, but yes," Benji put in.

"—but you have to know that I'm not anxious to do anything that might take me away from you. These last months, being with you, it's been…it's meant so much to me. To know that there's someone out there who cares that I land safely—it makes jumping worth it."

Benji stared at Ethan. His chest felt full, with awe and gratefulness and lust and something like pride. He had no idea how to translate all of those feelings into words. He managed, "I'm not sure that makes any sense, but it's sweet."

Ethan smiled, and Benji knew he'd said the right thing. He loved making Ethan smile, seeing his face crease into a younger, less burdened version of himself.

Ethan reached over, rested his hand on Benji's shoulder the way he'd done a thousand times before. "I've loved you for a very long time, Benjamin Dunn. I love you more every day. Never doubt that. Never forget it, okay?"

Benji swallowed against the lump in his throat. Why did Ethan's declarations always make him feel amazing and frightened simultaneously? Why did loving him mean he was always afraid?

"You love me?" he asked, more rhetorically than anything else. He'd known, deep down. But it still felt nice to hear that the most beautiful, strongest, cleverest person he'd ever met loved him back.

"Of course I love you, you idiot."

***

A few hours later they got rooms at a modest motel near the border with Poland. Rooms, plural, though Benji imagined they'd only make use of one. They had learned to be careful when in countries where homosexuality was still considered to be far from mainstream, even though it had technically not been illegal in Belarus since 1994.

They ate dinner, secured their gear, then Benji made his way to Ethan's first floor corner room. They took a shower together, trading long, deep, wet kisses under the spray until the water turned tepid. Then they crawled into bed, not bothering to put on pajamas.

"I didn't have a chance to get you a birthday present," Benji said as he settled into the space under Ethan's arm. Even though he had a couple of inches on Ethan, somehow he always ended up the little spoon. He didn't particularly mind.

"Getting to spend today with you was gift enough," Ethan said, stroking his fingers along Benji's side. Once they'd gotten past a few firsts—their first kiss, their first mutual orgasm, their first blow job, etc., the awkwardness of the transition of going from teammates and friends to lovers had passed.

Ethan was highly affectionate when they were in private. He loved to touch Benji, to ply him with kisses, back rubs, foot rubs, any kind of rub, really. They were never in one place long enough for it to feel like setting up house, but Benji imagined that if they ever left this crazy life they were living, Ethan would take to domesticity with a sort of phrenetic intensity—cooking seven course meals on a Tuesday night and renovating bathrooms with nothing but a claw hammer and some two-by-fours.

Benji wondered if that's how it had been during Ethan's marriage to Julia. He had seemed to throw himself into that the way he threw himself into everything else. At the same time, suburban life had not meshed well with his continuing work for IMF.

This line of thinking was neither here nor there, Benji reminded himself. There had never been any inkling that Ethan wanted a change from his field agent role. Indeed, as this shadowy organization they'd been calling the Syndicate had popped up in various locations over the last year, it seemed their work was far from complete.

Ethan would do anything for Benji, but his first love was saving the world. It was a job he took very seriously. And Benji loved him for it. Which was why he always felt that if Ethan had to choose…well, far be it for Benji to tell him not to choose saving the world. Ethan wouldn't be Ethan if he didn't put himself on the line to do the right thing, every time.

"Well, happy birthday," Benji said. "Perhaps in lieu of a pocket watch you'll never use or a tie that will somehow get shredded, I could give you something else."

"Like?"

Benji rolled over, faced his partner. "Like a boon. A favor. Up to you what it could be."

"And I could redeem this favor now?"

"If you like."

Ethan put on a look of concentration. "Hmmm. Anything I want?"

"Anything," Benji said simply. First of all, he would do anything for Ethan. But he could give the answer because he knew Ethan would never ask him for something he wouldn't want to give.

"Anything," Ethan repeated, his voice husky, his eyes suddenly half-lidded, his mouth soft, his hands firmly on Benji's waist.

Benji nodded, all of a sudden quite warm. Goosebumps broke out along his arms, his skin felt tight, and his cock reflexively stirred.

Ethan let out a sort of choked sigh. "There are so many things I want, Benji. So many things I want from you."

Benji reached down, closed his hand around Ethan's cock, discovered it was already half hard. He stroked it lightly, leaned in to nip Ethan's earlobe, and then whisper in his ear, his voice deliberately provocative, "You can have whatever you want, Ethan. I'll give you whatever you want."

Ethan shuddered, then rolled on top, capturing Benji's mouth in a messy kiss. "Fuck. Whatever I want?"

"Anything," Benji vowed.

Ethan groaned. "I want you inside me."

Benji shivered. "You sure?" They'd done it that way only a couple of times before. It was always intense, always left them both quivering wrecks by the end, as Benji felt keenly the responsibility of making Ethan feel as amazing as possible, and Ethan struggled let himself go, let himself be the one receiving pleasure.

"Please. I need it."

Benji didn't answer, just left the safety of Ethan's arms long enough to retrieve some supplies.

He started slow, preparing Ethan with well-lubed fingers, pausing frequently to take Ethan's mouth with his, sucking on his tongue. When he reached for a condom, Ethan grabbed his wrist.

"No. Just you."

They were both clean, but they'd never gone without before. Benji nodded. Ethan smiled a little.

"How do you want…?"

Ethan flipped onto his stomach, lifted his perfectly sculpted ass into the air. Benji swore. He slathered lube onto his straining cock, paused to press a few fervent kisses onto Ethan's round flesh. He couldn't help himself. The man had the ass of a Greek god. Helios, most likely.

"Benji, please," Ethan's voice was shredded. "Please."

Far be it from Benji to ignore a plea from Ethan's lips. He grasped his lover's hips, slid into him in one long, slow thrust. He let Ethan adjust, felt the tight, hot channel squeezing around his cock. The sight of him joined to Ethan this way—it was enough to have him coming in an instant, but he gritted his teeth and started to pump in and out when Ethan indicated he was ready for him to move.

Over and over they came together, Ethan's moans of pleasure muffled in the bedclothes. The entire picture of Ethan Hunt on his knees, being fucked into the mattress from behind, Benji leaning over him, grabbing his waist, the sound of their flesh slapping together—it was the most erotic thing Benji had ever experienced. He felt the electric pulses of the beginnings of his orgasm gathering in his body, reached around to find Ethan's cock already pulsing out jets of come, and on a single strangled shout of Ethan's name, pumped himself dry inside of the man he loved.

It took a while to come to his senses, to pull out and clean Ethan up, to kiss him and make sure he was okay. Eventually, they got comfortable, stretched out together, unable to stop touching each other, hips and hands, shoulders and lips.

Ethan sighed. He sounded happy. "I love you," he whispered.

It was no less miraculous to hear it again.

"I love you, Ethan."

Ethan kissed him, laughed a little. "You know, I was wondering if we were never going to say it. I thought maybe you didn't—not that you didn't feel that way—but you didn't want to label it. I've sort of always been the first one to say it, in the past, and uh, things never ended up that well, so I figured, hey, maybe if you said it first—I don't know. I'm being ridiculous." Ethan covered his eyes with his overdeveloped forearm.

Benji admired the view for a moment before saying, "I like you ridiculous." Which was true. But Benji considered what Ethan had said. "It's not hard for me to say that I love you. It's not hard for me to love you, period. But it's different for me. You're my entire universe. You're the star that makes life possible."

"Benji—"

"No, it's okay. You are the sun, Ethan. I'm…barely in your orbit. But for some reason, we work. I already knew that. I didn't need the words. But it's nice to hear them anyway."

Ethan was silent. Benji supposed it was time for them to get some sleep. Some of them were in their fifties now, after all. He switched off the bedside lamp and threw the room into darkness.

In the hush of the night, Ethan finally spoke. "I'm not the sun. I'm just a man. I'm a man who never thought—god—I'm so lucky. I'm so lucky to love you."

Benji tried to wrap his head around the fact that Ethan considered himself the lucky one. They clung to each other in the dark. Benji wanted to stay conscious, to float on this moment forever. He felt asleep cradling Ethan, the big spoon for once, and slept without dreams.

***

The next day they made the safe house in Warsaw by late afternoon. Benji and Ethan conferenced with Will.

"Sorry, guys," he said. He sounded more stressed than usual. "I need Benji back here. I've got meetings back to back for the next three days. Ethan, I need you in London. Resume deep cover until you get instructions from me at the London terminal. You're the only one who has a clear enough picture on the Syndicate right now to keep digging without arousing suspicion. As soon as we get to the other side of this investigation, I'll send Benji back out in the field and we'll go after these bastards."

Benji and Ethan exchanged glances. Benji wasn't keen to be separated from Ethan again. There wasn't really any reason he couldn't go to London with him, except that Ethan's cover there was well established and didn't involve a scruffy ginger lover.

Ethan answered for both of them. "Understood. I'll await instructions at London terminal. Good luck, Will."

"Thank you, Ethan. Benji, I'll set up your itinerary and send it by morning."

"Thanks, Will."

Another night before another farewell. But Will had said it himself—as soon as the misconduct investigation was put to bed, he'd be right back out in the field, with Ethan, where he belonged.

They ate a meal cobbled together out of things in the cupboards and then tumbled into bed, both of them tired after a long day of driving. The Warsaw safe house had small beds, but they made do.

They made love slowly. Benji took him time kissing every inch of Ethan's body, rubbing the soft hairs of his beard over Ethan's skin, as if he could mark him with his beard. He wanted Ethan to remember him, remember everything they were to each other, have him imprinted on his skin, his cells, tattooed upon his heart. He needed to know that while Ethan was off saving the world, he was taking part of him along, even if just the memory of Benji's lips pressing against his skin, or the vibration of Benji's groans of pleasure against his chest.

They fell asleep tangled up in each other. Benji slept like the dead until the persistent beeping of his phone in the gray light of pre-dawn made itself known. He read Will's instructions; he would dispose of their vehicle and then catch a train, while Ethan flew direct to London.

After coffee and kisses, they held each other. Benji smiled into Ethan's shoulder as the embrace went on; neither of them wanted to be the one who let go first. But someone had to. So he stepped back.

Chapter Text

Ethan
September 2014
London

It all happened so fast. That's what Ethan couldn't help thinking as he limped toward the first phone booth he deemed safe after escaping from the Bone Doctor and crew.

One minute he'd been happy, heading to the London terminal to get new instructions. He'd been thinking about Benji, of course, wondering what he was doing back in D.C. Ethan felt like he might be getting old. The girl at the record shop—she was so young. Too young to believe that the things she'd been told could actually be true. But Ethan had lived them. He was living proof that all that had happened, and more.

The girl at the record shop was dead. Ethan felt sick when he relived that moment over in his mind. When he'd woken, handcuffed to a pole, his first thought had been that Benji would be angry with him for losing another shirt. Not that Benji was every truly angry with him. The closest he'd seen him angry was that day in Belarus, the day Benji had told him he loved him. One of the best days of Ethan's life.

This day was charting as one of the worst. The only silver lining in this debacle was that he could confirm that the Syndicate was real, and he had a sliver of new information. They were using disavowed and presumed dead agents to carry out their plots. He had two faces seared on his memory: the man in the glasses and the woman with the high heels and killer instinct. It wasn't much, but he could work with it.

He stumbled into the phone box, made the connection to Brandt, started talking. Maybe the girl in the record shop wouldn't have died in vain, if they could finally get IMF operations looking in the right direction.

Brandt's voice cut into his thoughts, bleak and resigned. "…I've been ordered to bring everyone in."

Ethan tried to process what he was hearing as quickly as possible. Time, as ever, was not on his side. Not with the CIA painting a target on his back as they spoke, not with blood oozing out of a bullet graze just under his ribs.

If he didn't have the IMF to back him up, that meant he was on his own. And since the mysterious murderer knew who Ethan was, that meant that the safest place for Benji to be was as far away from Ethan as possible. He swallowed against the lump in his throat.

"I understand, Brandt. We didn't have this conversation. I disappeared in London. You don't know where I am. If I'm dead or alive."

"This man you saw, can you find him?" Brandt asked.

Ethan knew this man was the key to everything. His resolve hardened. "I won't stop until I do." A picture of Benji's face as they said goodbye mere days ago flashed across his mind. He'd been stoic, but they'd both been looking forward to their next reunion. Now, Ethan had no idea how long it might be before they were together again. He took one steadying breath and added, "Tell Benji…tell him I'm sorry. I have to do this."

"This may very well be our last mission, Ethan. Make it count." Brandt's voice was infused with the knowledge of everything he knew Ethan was sacrificing for this final, possibly doomed mission.

The line went dead and Ethan felt like his strength had been cut along with the connection. He dropped the phone, stumbled into the night. He didn't have a plan. He didn't have a team. He didn't have Benji. But he had to succeed if there was ever going to be a hope of defeating the Syndicate, of making the world safe for him to be with Benji again.

He'd been on his own before. He didn't know how long he would have to track these monsters or have to fight them on his own. He had to be prepared for anything.

But first he needed a shirt.

Benji
September 2014
D.C.

It all happened so fast. One minute Benji was a thousand lines deep into code for the new retina lenses, the next he'd been hauled into a conference room and interrogated about the whereabouts of one Agent Ethan Hunt by no less than the director of the CIA.

"Do you know where Hunt is?" Hunley's face gave nothing away. Benji felt a prickle of alarm. Was Ethan in trouble?

Benji slid his eyes to Brandt, silently glowering in the corner. Will gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

Benji didn't know what the hell was going on, but he trusted Will. "Er, London, last I heard."

"When did you last have contact with him?"

"Couple of weeks ago," Benji said. It was sort of the truth. They'd texted on their burner phones a few times since Benji had left Ethan behind in Warsaw. But he saw no reason for Hunley to know, or even to care, about that.

"It's my duty to inform you that the IMF has been shut down, and all of its activities are as of now being folded into the CIA. Agent Hunt is a wanted man, presumed dangerous, and I am making it my mission to see him safely in custody at the earliest possible moment. I know you've worked closely with Hunt, Agent Dunn. He may try to contact you. I'm ordering you to immediately notify me personally should that come to pass. In the meantime, you'll be reassigned to data analysis at Langley. Dismissed."

Benji looked at Will imploringly. The IMF gone, in a puff of smoke? They were all working for the CIA now? And where the hell was Ethan? Will raised an eyebrow and inclined his head toward the door. Benji rose, trying to control his panic.

He met Will an hour later at a bar the three of them, Ethan, Will, and Benji, had come to a few times over the last couple of years.

"What the hell is going on?" he hissed, when they slid with their drinks into a secluded booth.

"It's just as Hunley said. We're CIA now. Ethan's in the wind, but they're looking for him as we speak. Hunley has a hard on for seeing Ethan behind bars."

Benji can't remember being this furious, or this afraid. "Ethan's done more for this country, for the fucking world, than—"

"I know, I know. Fuck." Will scrubbed his hands over his face. He looked exhausted. "I failed. I couldn't make the chairman see how vital we are, how necessary—I—I'm sorry, Benji."

"You know they've had it out for us even without Hunley throwing us under the bus. You did everything you could, Will. This isn't your fault."

"Maybe not, but the timing couldn't have been worse. I heard from Ethan, right after the gavel came down."

"What? Is he okay?"

"I think so. London had been compromised. He told me he'd seen someone—a man—he could link to the Syndicate. And he said we should focus operations on international agents missing or presumed dead."

"Well, can't we?"

"Hunley thinks the Syndicate is a figment of Ethan's imagination. He's not going to listen to us. But Ethan's not going to stop."

"Of course he won't." If Ethan had new intel, if he had a name, or even a face, to go on, he'd track that lead until he got the results he was looking for. "But we can help him. Why don't we quit? Fuck the CIA. We'll meet up with Ethan, back him up. It'll be like that time we all got disavowed and stopped a nuclear attack on San Francisco anyway." Benji let excitement leak into his voice. They didn't necessarily need the IMF to keep their mission alive.

Brandt's smile was lopsided. "I know it's going to be hard, but I think we have to stay. We have to let him pursue this on his own. We can try to pass along what we can, run interference with Hunley. It's not going to be much fun. But he needs us here, Benji. If Ethan's tracking the Syndicate, and Hunley's tracking Ethan, we have to stay close to Hunley, so we can warn Ethan if he gets too close."

Benji thought this over. It made a certain kind of sense, but it was going to be next to impossible to show up for work and pretend everything was hunky dory, that he wasn't fretting over Ethan every minute of every day. That he wasn't missing him like crazy. Who knew how long this would take? Who knew if the CIA would ever believe Ethan, even if he brought them the Syndicate on a silver platter?

"I don't know if I can do that, Brandt. I mean, Ethan's out there, all alone—"

"Ethan said something else. He said to tell you he was sorry, Benji. And that he has to do this." Brandt looked regretful, as if he knew his words would cause Benji pain.

"Oh." Benji wondered what, exactly, Ethan was sorry for. Sorry for leaving him behind? Sorry for not seeing another way? He tried very, very hard, not to read the word sorry as code for "we're breaking up."

"Promise me you won't do anything drastic," Brandt said, breaking into his thoughts.

"What? Me? No." Benji tried to inject reassurance into his smile. "I promise. You're right. We need to hold down the fort for Ethan."

"Exactly." Will looked relieved that Benji had gotten the message.

"Then I guess I'll see you Monday," Benji said. "At our new digs?"

"Guess so." They sighed in tandem. Fuck the CIA.

Benji
Winter 2014
D.C.

No matter what he'd told Will, Benji had half a mind to tell Hunley off and catch the first plane for London, to go back to Ethan's last known location and track him down himself. He didn't dare use the burner phone. There was no way Ethan still had his anyway. He had to wait for Ethan to contact him first.

But he didn't. That first night, he'd checked his go bag, made sure he had plenty of cash on hand. He inventoried his IDs, decided he better get a few that the CIA wouldn't be able to trace. Just in case.

He slept with his burner phone clutched in his hand that night. But it never buzzed with a message from Ethan.

After the first few days, Benji's hope that Ethan would reach out, would ask him to join him out in the field, the two of them against the world, faded. Ethan no doubt had his reasons for going it alone. Benji could imagine what they were. Being apart from Ethan was hard, of course. Benji missed him, like he'd miss his right hand. But they'd been separated by time and space before.

No, what was hardest was knowing that Ethan was out in the field, and Benji was…not. He was bound to his desk, parsing data, parrying Hunley's predictable polygraphs. He missed Ethan. He also missed being in the field. He hadn't realized quite how much being a field agent had become entwined with his identity. Suddenly having that taken away made him feel bereft, at loose ends in a way he'd never felt before.

He was bored. He started a new workout routine. He ran three miles every morning, weight trained and swam alternate days. He kept his go bag stocked. He kept three burner phones charged. He kept the one that Ethan had last contacted him on with him all the time, even though it seemed less and less likely that Ethan would use that channel to get in touch.

He tried not to worry. It was easy, late at night when sleep eluded him, to imagine the worst. To imagine that the reason Ethan hadn't been in touch was because he'd been caught. Ethan could have been captive all this time and Benji would have no way of knowing. Ethan could be…dead. Every time Benji found his brain going down that road, he had to stop and pull back. Ethan wasn't dead. Ethan was resourceful. He could be a ghost if he wanted. He could come back to D.C. and Benji might not even know he was here.

So he waited. And wondered. And pushed himself to be ready for when the call finally came.

***

New Year's Eve was hard. Brandt had gone to visit his parents over the holidays. Luther had long since ditched them for parts unknown, not that Benji could blame him. He hadn't kept in touch, but he secretly hoped that perhaps Luther, at least, could keep tabs on Ethan and make sure he stayed safe. Benji hadn't been able to face a trip overseas to his own family. It would have been too tempting to go awol and start looking for Ethan everywhere.

Instead, he went to a bar. He needed the noise of a lot of people; he'd been going crazy inside his silent apartment night after night. Being among the drinking revelers reminded him of last year. He and Ethan in Paris, their relationship still so new, still so fresh. Benji had moved heaven and earth to be with Ethan last New Year's, because he'd had the sentimental notion that one should start the year with the person you wanted to end it with.

Well, they'd started the year together. They were ending it apart. It seemed the superstition didn't hold water.

He drank steadily, wishing the night was over and it would be the new year already. A new year in which Ethan would end his prolonged absence and just admit that he needed Benji, dammit.

He fended off a couple of flirtatious comments. He might have been in the best shape of his life, considering he had nothing better to do than work out, but the only person he wanted to flirt with was Ethan. Finally, with minutes left until the ball drop, Benji gave up and stumbled home.

He was alone, floating through space, feeling the pull of Ethan's gravity once again only from a distance. It could have felt intolerably lonely, this enforced, protracted separation. But Benji had been apart from Ethan before. He could survive. He would survive.

There was something different about this time. This time, Benji not only felt that Ethan's gravity was keeping him centered, but he was certain that Ethan felt the pull of Benji, too. No matter where Ethan was or what shenanigans he was getting up to (or what hardships he was putting himself through for the greater good) Benji knew with certainty that Ethan was thinking of him, was pulled and pushed in equal measure by Benji's own gravitational pull. They were pushed apart at the moment, but just as soon as they were able, they'd be pulled back together, inexorably, inevitably, because as unlikely as it seemed, they belonged together, in the same orbit, in the same atmosphere. It was as true as any of Newton's laws. Ethan would come back to him, or draw him close. Benji only had to wait.

Benji opened his eyes slowly, coming out of his dream. He'd been floating in a sea of stars, curious about why he'd been able to breath without oxygen, content to continue his slow orbit, feeling himself grow warmer the closer he came to the blazing hot sun that was always just out of reach—

There was someone in the bed with him. He hadn't drunk so much that he'd ended up in a stranger's bed, had he? No. He hadn't been falling down drunk. He hadn't blacked out. He'd been sad, and he'd gone home and crawled into his own, empty, bed. And now it was very early in the morning of the first day of the new year and his bed wasn't empty anymore.

The man slept facedown, wearing a soft black t-shirt which was stretched around strong biceps and over a muscular back. His hair was shaggy, and one of his hands was curled around Benji's as if he was afraid to let go.

How the fuck Ethan had been able to get into Benji's apartment and into his bed without tripping any of Benji's security layers or simply waking him up, Benji would never know. It seemed Ethan had done the impossible yet again.

As if he sensed Benji waking up, Ethan rolled over and Benji caught sight of his face for the first time. Benji had never seen Ethan with actual facial hair before.

He couldn't help blurting out the first thought that came to mind. "What have you done to yourself? You look like a homeless underwear model." Benji immediately wanted to smack himself. "What I meant to say is, Ethan, darling. What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Sorry about the beard. Disguise." Ethan ran a rueful hand over his scruff. "You look—" Ethan didn't finish the sentence, but he licked his lips, which told Benji enough.

Benji felt his flush reach his ears. "Well, there's nothing to do around here except go to the gym."

"You want something to do? I need some info. I thought maybe you or Brandt could get it for me. I have secure place you can send it to."

"Of course, but—"

"I have to go to Cuba." Ethan checked his watch. "In about thirty minutes."

Benji didn't ask if he could come with him. He didn't want to hear Ethan tell him no.

He just nodded. "All right. You should have woken me up when you got here." Seeing him for such a short time was almost worse than not seeing him at all. Benji knew he was going to miss him even more after he'd gone.

Ethan looked as wrecked at Benji felt. "I know. I wasn't sure—I mean, you probably have lots of questions and I really don't have time to answer them right now, and you don't owe me anything, of course, it's been months. But—I wanted to see you. It's New Year's."

Benji realized that Ethan was returning the favor from last year. He pushed aside his confusion, his disappointment at the amount of time they had together. He smiled. "Happy New Year, Ethan."

"Happy New Year, Benji."

They kissed. It felt strange to kiss someone whose beard was longer than his own, but Ethan's lips felt familiar. The way Ethan moaned a little when Benji sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, the way his hands came up to grip Benji around the waist and pull him closer, that was all so familiar Benji could cry. They kissed long and deep, but Benji knew they weren't going to go any further. There was too much too say and not enough time. He sensed when Ethan pulled away that their time together was coming to a close.

"I love you." Ethan pressed his lips to Benji's forehead.

"Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"It sounds too much like you're worried we won't see each other again."

"Of course we will." Ethan's response was immediate. He sounded so completely sure of himself Benji found his doubts assuaged.

"I love you, too."

Ethan closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around Benji, dropped his chin to Benji's shoulder. They lay together like that for two, three long breaths. "Next time I see you, I'll have more answers. I promise."

"And when will that be?"

"Soon."

"It better be. I'm going out of my mind trying to be a good little data analyst for Hunley."

"You're doing great. I've got some names I need you to pull files on. But don't let Hunley find out. You can do that, right?"

"Of course I can do it." Hunley didn't scare Benji. Losing Ethan, over and over again. That scared him. He would have thought he'd be used to it by now. But each goodbye felt like a fresh wound. Only Ethan's unwavering certainty that it was never a permanent farewell allowed him to keep it together when Ethan gave him a final kiss, and went back out into the world, armed with little more than his wits. Benji would keep it together, he'd get Ethan the intel he needed, he play the game in front of Hunley. And when this was all over, he was going to have a serious talk with Ethan about the future of their relationship. Benji wasn't sure he could commit to a lifetime of saying goodbye to Ethan Hunt.

Chapter Text

Ethan
February 2015
Cuba

Cuba was warm and sunny, but Ethan mostly only went out at night. During the day, he stayed inside his barren one-room hideout, poring over news reports and the files Brandt and Benji had gotten to him. He was slowly putting the pieces together, mapping incidents and locations, names and places, getting so close to a breakthrough he could taste it.

When the faces all started to look alike, and his muscles quivered at merely the thought of another round of planks and push-ups, he sat against the wall, sketchbook in hand.

He drew their faces over and over until he was satisfied that he'd gotten the curve of the mysterious woman's elegant jawline just right, until he was sure the intelligent, terrifying stare coming from behind the man he sought's glasses was accurate. The sketches were the only tangible thing he had that no one else did. The Syndicate might know who Ethan Hunt was, but he could identify these two players. He only needed the right circumstances and he'd take them both down.

After the day's work was finished, he'd visit the corner paladar for a filling meal. Then he'd roam around, checking his drop sites, checking in with his contacts. When he returned to the safe house he'd sit alone in the shadows. He'd reach for the pencils and paper and draw Benji.

He drew him the way he'd last seen him, bleary eyed from drinking too much on New Year's Eve, tousled and beautiful. He drew him laughing, face creased into a million familiar folds that meant he was happy. He drew him concentrating, tip of his glasses in his mouth, bent over some piece of troublesome tech, his great brain churning away. He drew him younger, softer, the way he was when Ethan first met him, so many years ago, before everything had changed. Before he'd accepted his life's work. Before Benji had joined him in it.

Benji was harder now, sharper. He'd been shaped like diamond over these last few years of field work. But was he no less vulnerable? Ethan couldn't decide what was worse—to have Benji out in the open, where anything could happen, or to keep him sequestered behind a desk where he was slowly going mad with enforced inactivity.

He sighed, and sketched, and wished, and wanted. Every night before he went to sleep, he took a match to those drawing and burned them to ash. He couldn't afford to have them found.

The days passed in slow succession. He trained, he gathered information, he identified his resources. He didn't make a plan. He didn't know enough to make a plan. Until he got a tip. Something about the Vienna Opera House, a certain night only a few weeks away.

He'd need help to finally put a pin in the Syndicate once and for all.

Time to call for backup. Finally.

Benji
February 2015
D.C.

Benji opened the nondescript envelope the mail guy had slapped down on his desk and grinned. The opera tickets had to be a message from Ethan. He tamped down his initial wave of excitement. Just because Ethan wanted him to go to Vienna didn't mean he was actually going to be there, or that this charade was coming to an end.

He checked himself and picked up his phone on the second ring. The irritatingly benign voice requested his presence on the third floor. Immediately.

"Is it that time already? Okay." Vienna would have to wait until he'd successfully gotten through yet another polygraph.

He had to be the world's record holder for most number of passed polygraphs while lying through his teeth. It wasn't difficult, just required concentration. Right now, his mind was all over the place. He took some deep breaths, channeled the place of calm that he drew on to get through these idiotic things. If he could game them this easily, then what use were they at all?

Hunley walked in with his usual infuriating swagger, Brandt on his heels. The laminated evidence that Hunley slid across the table piqued Benji's interest. Most of it Benji had provided himself, but not all of it. He and Brandt had passed some intel on to Ethan back in January. Apparently he was making a little headway. Benji tried not to appear too interested.

But when Hunley pushed, Benji felt his temper getting the better of him. The vehement denial Benji spouted at him was mostly bullshit, but there was enough of an undercurrent of truth to his frustration at being stuck behind masses of metadata while Ethan was tracking down leads to sell the entire act. And when it came time to spit out the fact that he and Ethan weren't friends—well. It wasn't exactly a lie. They were so much more. It was so much more complicated than Benji could even explain. Polygraphs weren't nuanced. They were yes, no, true, false. Thank god Hunley had never gotten it into his head to ask if Benji loved Ethan Hunt. He wasn't sure he'd be able to wriggle his way out of that landmine of a question.

"I owe him nothing," he said, finishing strong. They bought it.

Will showed up at his desk at five on the dot. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Twenty minutes later they had a table at a bar not known as a CIA hangout. The beer was cold and the burgers they'd ordered to go with them were greasy and hot. "Nice job in there today. Very convincing," Will said.

"Yeah, well." He still hadn't completely calmed down.

"You're not—you and Ethan aren't—I mean, you're still—" Will suddenly seemed unable to finish a sentence.

"I don't know what we are," Benji said tiredly. "I haven't seen him in six months." He knew to keep Ethan's clandestine New Year's visit a secret even from Will. "It doesn't really bode well, you know what I mean?"

Will looked shocked. "Listen, Benji, I know things have been hard around here—but you guys can get through this. Just be patient, okay?"

Benji looked at his friend curiously. He realized that Will was one of the few people on the planet that knew about their relationship, and that he supported them from the very start. Since before the very start. He suddenly remembered that Will had been there in Croatia, had seen what had happened to Julia first hand. He swallowed. Ethan spoke so seldom of that time, of Julia at all. It made sense that talking about her was painful. But Benji had known her, too. They'd been friends, even. Her fate hurt. Will had been hurt by it, too.

"Loving Ethan Hunt is complicated," he said after a long silence. "It's dangerous. You know what I mean. You were there when Julia—" he broke off. Will's face still looked troubled, but Benji went on. "I don't think he's really ever gotten over it. Not that you'd get over something like that, but he pushed me away instead of giving me a say and I'm sick of it. It's one thing to be separated by the mission or the work. It's another to be separated because your boyfriend doesn't trust you to keep up."

Will fiddled with is napkin, looked up and met Benji's gaze. "Look, maybe you're right. Ethan's protecting you the only way he knows how. He pushed Julia away to keep her safe. He probably thinks he's doing the right thing by doing that with you, too."

Benji cocked his head. He'd hardly call Julia being murdered "pushing her away." But Will kept talking, "And look, at least you've just been stuck behind a desk for a few months. It's not like you had to fake your death, change your name, the whole shebang the way Julia did. It could be so much worse. Let's just let this play out. I hate to say it, but Ethan's usually right, so maybe he's right about this, too."

Benji registered the Will had continued to talk but he was still hearing one phrase over and over again. Fake your death…the way Julia did. Fake your death. Julia.

He let out a short, unhappy laugh. "Of course!"

Will glanced up at him sharply. "Of course what?"

Benji sighed. Will, dear man, knowing Ethan and Benji as well as he did, would never have dreamed that Ethan wouldn't have told his new love that his old one was not actually dead. Benji didn't have time to clue Will in to the epiphanies that were exploding in his head. Julia was alive. That mere fact was a lovely relief. His chest grew warm imagining her whole and happy, living her life out as anonymously as she could. Will had experienced such paroxysms of guilt over his role in the matter, but then had seemed…better, once they'd started running missions together after Mumbai. Ethan must have told him that it had all been a lie.

Well, good for Will.

The question Benji was asking himself was why hadn't Ethan told him?

Some dark, vulnerable piece of him deep inside was sure it knew the answer. Because Ethan was still in love with his wife, no matter what their official marital status. Because he'd never love Benji that deeply, that much. Because Ethan was the sun, and Benji was Pluto, and Julia was—what? The Earth? Ethan's entire world, once upon a time. And whatever Ethan and Benji had been doing for the last couple of years was simply a blip on the radar until Ethan made the world safe enough for him and Julia to be reunited.

At the very least, Benji now knew that Ethan didn't trust him with the information of Julia's whereabouts. He trusted Will enough to assuage his guilt, but not Benji enough to assuage his grief. Ethan knew that Benji thought Julia was dead. Or did he? He tried to recall the events after the Hendricks affair. Benji had told Ethan he was sorry that things hadn't worked out for him and Julia, not knowing that she'd been death whole time, according to Will. But then every time they'd talked about it afterwards, or not talked about it, Benji had acted like Julia had died. And Ethan hadn't done or said anything to contradict that belief.

He couldn't decide which emotion was winning: anger, betrayal, heartbreak, relief.

"Are you okay, Benj?" Will asked, touching his elbow, bringing him back to the moment.

He nodded. Will didn't need to be in the middle of this. He needed to get to the bottom of it on his own. "Don't worry, Will." Benji pitched his voice to be reassuring. "I do need to take a couple of vacation days, though."

Ethan
March 2015
Vienna

Ethan took his time preparing for the night ahead. There was no superfluous room in the boat he'd turned into a safe house, so he sprang for a complete shave at a barbershop, got his hair trimmed. He luxuriated in feeling his cheeks clean shaven for the first time in months. He told himself it was because he no longer needed the protection. The months of playing hide and seek with the CIA while gathering data on the Syndicate was nearing its end. Soon something would happen to bring it all out in the open. Ethan felt it in his bones. But the real reason he took his time, retied his tie three times, made sure his hair was brushed into place, was because he was going to see Benji again.

He knew he'd messed up to an extent by forcing this separation on them. He hadn't asked for Benji's input, and they'd both had to deal with the consequences. But it was what he did—pushing people away to keep them safe, when he was the one putting them in danger. It had worked for Julia. She was alive, healthy, thriving. Without him. Benji had survived the last few months whole and healthy, too. He might have been a little bored, but he was safe. That's what counted at the end of the day.

Ethan wouldn't even have reached out to him for this unsanctioned mission except he really couldn't do it alone, and the faster they identified the Syndicate's leaders, the faster they could take them down and the faster he and Benji could start thinking about the future—their future.

He went over the details of the plan one more time, confirmed the messenger who would intercept Benji en route to the opera house. He left plenty of time for his own transport there. His nerves were high, his pulse quick, the closer it came to curtain time.

Then he got the alert that the glasses had been activated and Benji's identity had been confirmed, and he spoke, going for smooth and nonchalant and very much worried he seemed like he was trying way too hard. "Welcome to Vienna, Benji. Miss me?"

"Ethan, where the hell are you? We really need to talk—"

"I know. But first I need you to do something for me."

"Of course you do." Benji didn't sound as happy to be back in contact with Ethan as he'd expected. But there was no time for that now. Now they actually had a goal, a tangible mission for the first time in months and he needed Benji to focus and to back him up, the way he always did. "Where do we meet?"

"We don't. At least, not right now. It's better if we're not seen together."

"Of course it is." Again with the attitude. Ethan had a bad feeling that he'd misstepped and he wasn't sure exactly where. But again, they had work to do. He couldn't mess up this chance to find the man he'd been searching for just because his boyfriend was mad at him.

"You have mail." He prompted Benji to look at his phone.

"Who is he?"

"He's our only possible link to the Syndicate. And I have reason to believe he's going to be here tonight. Are you in?"

Benji didn't answer right away, and Ethan's heart skipped a beat, and not in a good way. "Are you in?"

"Yes, of course. But, I still need to talk to you."

"After, I promise."

Benji didn't answer.

"I promise, Benji."

"All right, Ethan. So what's the play?"

***

The next hours passed like they normally did when they were in on a high stakes mission—minutes went by like seconds, seconds went by like hours. After nearly having his ass beaten by a giant hulk and shot at by at least one member of the Syndicate, Ethan was getting pretty fed up. It was bad enough that Ethan had lost contact with Benji, but then he'd had to improvise a way out of the opera, the mysterious woman by his side, while leaving Benji to fend for himself.

And then the Chancellor of Austria's motorcade exploded twenty yards away and Ethan was truly shocked. For a minute, his mind went blank and he had no idea what to do next.

Benji screeched to a halt in front of them in a stolen Mercedes. Ethan was reminded that Benji was just as capable a field agent as any he'd ever worked with. Maybe even better than anyone else, because he always seemed ready when Ethan needed him most.

"Get in!" Benji yelled.

He tumbled into the car after the woman and Benji peeled out. He caught Benji's gaze in the rearview mirror. He looked worried, but there was something else there. Anger. And not just because they were transporting someone who very well might be their enemy.

Although he didn't seem best pleased about that, either. As Ethan searched her for weapons and clues, Benji's voice rang out. "Hang on a minute, do you know her?" Ethan heard indignation and perhaps a hint of jealousy?

"We haven't been formally introduced, but I'm pretty sure she's British Intelligence?"

He waited for confirmation of his theory, and had to be satisfied with a quirk of her eyebrows and a name.

"Ilsa Faust. You're Ethan Hunt."

Ilsa Faust. Probably an alias, but at least he had something to call her now. Something told him that she was the key to bringing down the Syndicate, even if her methods were maddeningly opaque. Then they were taking fire, and she was gone, leaving him with a pocketful of sharp objects and a tube of lipstick. It was something to go on, at least.

Benji wasted no time putting space between them and the woman. Ethan rebelled at the idea of letting her face the man in glasses unarmed, but he had to trust that she knew what she was doing.

"Head for the river," Ethan said as he climbed into the passenger seat. "We'll ditch the car and go the rest of the way on foot."

Benji didn't speak, just navigated to a dark car park where they left the vehicle after taking care to wipe it down. Then they were just two guys out of a midnight stroll in their tuxes, footsteps ringing out against cobblestones as they headed for the safe house.

It was a boat that Brandt had managed to wipe clean from IMF's books, and Ethan had hacked into in order to use it for his own purposes. Hence hot wiring the entry pad instead of using the retinal scanner. Benji was quiet, letting him lead the way. There was still something radiating off of him—and it wasn't fear. Benji was angry about something, and Ethan had no idea what.

He'd planned to get Benji out of the country as quickly as he'd come in, but now that the chancellor was dead and Ilsa had given them their next move, once they figured out what it was, he was thinking that Benji was not going to gracefully return to D.C. to inform on him. He'd have to adjust his plan.

"Is it after yet?" Benji said once they were safely inside the safe house and Ethan had brought up the lights, revealing bunks, computers, and a myriad of other equipment.

Ethan knew what he meant. "We need to figure out where Ilsa's going next."

"It can wait a few minutes," Benji said. His voice was hard. Ethan swallowed. He was acutely aware that this was the first time they'd seen each other in two months and Benji hadn't tried to touch him.

"Okay."

"Do you trust me, Ethan?"

"Of course I do." The answer was immediate and obvious. And true.

"Then why didn't you tell me Julia was still alive?"

Ethan ran a few mental calculations before answering. He could pretend not to know what Benji was talking about. He could deflect, ask Benji where he'd gotten that information, but he knew the answer already. Will had probably told him, perhaps thinking he already knew. He thought back to the last time he'd heard from Julia. She'd sent up one of her flags after moving to New York. She was working at a hospital there. He hadn't actually thought about her much lately. He'd been too preoccupied with the mission at hand, at doing what he needed to to get the work done so he could feel safe bringing Benji into the field again.

In the end he didn't deny, he didn't deflect. But he didn't quite know how to answer, because he didn't quite know why he hadn't told Benji. He'd been aware that Benji had heard Will's version of events, just like Jane had, before Ethan had set the record straight with Will. But he hadn't ever gone out of his way to give Benji the full story. Why?

The silence went on long enough that Benji crossed his arms, his face growing stonier with each second that passed. Benji was pissed. Ethan had never seen him this way before—vibrating with a kind of fierce hurt. Ethan had hurt him. Shit.

No matter what Ethan did, or what he didn't say, he always ended up hurting the people he loved. He'd forced Julia into life as a ghost. He hadn't been able to save Jack, or Sarah, or Lindsay, or Hannah. He'd kept something important from the most important person.

"I'm sorry." The words came out thickly. He cleared his throat. "I should have told you."

"Why didn't you?" Benji said again.

"I don't know."

"You do know, Ethan. You just don't want to admit it. You say you trust me, but you run off and leave me behind for six bloody months. You say you love me, but you let me believe that your wife was dead." Benji's voice was rising, in tenor and volume. "But the truth is you don't trust me at your back and you don't trust me to keep your secrets. And you might love me, but you still love her, and I don't think I can be second. I've been running second to the work since we started. I thought I was okay with that. But it's not okay."

"What? You think I—I mean, I do love her, but—"

Benji held up a hand. "Stop, Ethan. I don't need to hear any more. We're fine. I'm here to back you up on this Syndicate thing because I know we need to take them down before Hunley catches up to us. You might want to be rid of me, but I'm staying. But you don't have to do this, you don't have to explain, because," here Benji took a deep, ragged breath before continuing, "it's over."

Chapter Text

Benji
March 2015
Vienna/Casablanca

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back. But he was so angry. He's worked himself into a strop on the flight, and then as soon as he'd arrived in Vienna and Ethan had made contact, everything was so business-as-usual with him that Benji had wanted to cry from frustration.

This is what he'd signed up for, as much as he like to complain about it—searching a crowded opera house for terrorists, escaping out a fire door with seconds to spare before the entire police force descended on the building, stealing a car with one of his handy gadgets to get Ethan to safety. He should have been doing this all along, and by the time Ethan and he had shed the annoyingly calm, annoyingly beautiful double agent, if that's really what she was, nothing Ethan could say was going to appease him.

Still, perhaps he'd gone too far. The stakes were too high for their domestic troubles to take precedence over proving the Syndicate was real and taking it down. Maybe he should have just said they'd table the discussion instead of declaring it—them—over.

He held Ethan's gaze, the words hanging there between them, torn between wanting Ethan to gather him in his arms and demand he take it back, and wanting him to listen to Benji for once in his life.

Ethan looked frozen. He looked like someone had sucker punched him in the solar plexus. But then he spoke. "This is what you want?"

No! Benji wanted to scream. This is not what I want. All I've ever wanted is you. But a part of you isn't enough for me.

Instead he said, "Considering what we're up against at the moment, I think it's the way it has to be."

Ethan swallowed. He nodded. He said, "Okay."

***

It was as if a switch had been flipped and the last year and a half had never happened. Ethan slid into team leader mode, explaining his theory of how the Syndicate worked, what its targets were, and how Ilsa was the key to finding out who the terrorist organization's leader was.

Benji asked a few clarifying questions, forced himself into support mode. He was here to do a job, nothing more, nothing less. The idea of an anti-IMF was chilling enough to keep him focused. Ethan had done an impressive job of staying both one step ahead of the CIA and inching closer to the terrorist network. Perhaps the two of them together with this Ilsa person could finish the job once and for all.

He had no trouble accessing the data on Ilsa's flash drive, even though what exactly was stored in the secured computer facility wasn't apparent. And their destination seemed clear—Morocco. They consulted maps and decided on their travel route. Then things got slightly awkward, because they had gear to gather and packing to do, but they also needed sleep. This floating safe house had two bunks, one on top of the other.

Benji rubbed his eyes, exhaustion and jet lag and the adrenaline crash of the opera house and the emotional fatigue of his confrontation with Ethan all hitting him at once.

"You're tired," Ethan said calmly.

Benji started to deny it, then shrugged. "Yeah, I am."

"Take the top bunk. I've got to go out."

"Now? It's four in the morning and police will be everywhere."

"Get some rest, Benji."

"Ethan—" Benji stopped. Ethan looked at him, but Benji couldn't hold his gaze. He didn't know what he wanted to say. He realized he couldn't tell him what to do, or to be careful. But just because things weren't the same between them didn't mean he didn't worry about him. "Never mind."

***

A day later they were strolling down the dusty, sun baked streets in the Casablanca suburbs. Besides talking about their plan and their contingencies and discussing their options in case Hunley's people managed to track them, they didn't talk.

Which was fine by Benji. Yes, he regretted his impetuous words, but he was still mad, still confused. Still stung by what felt like Ethan's betrayal. So when they reached Ilsa's compound and Ethan smiled at her, easy and charming and not like he was feeling the gulf between Benji and him at all, Benji's mouth turned down.

It wasn't Ilsa's fault that she was beautiful and intelligent, with a dry wit and a fearless attitude. It wasn't her fault that she embodied everything that would make the perfect match for Ethan Hunt. But Benji found himself bristling around her anyway. He tried to tell himself it was because he didn't fully trust someone who seemed to have the inside track on the very organization they were trying to break, that she wouldn't be the first double agent turned triple agent. But he knew that it mostly had to do with the fact that he was jealous. Ethan was smiling at her, not at him. Because Benji had fucking broken up with him. What had he been thinking?

Then he remembered Julia and Will and the six months he'd had to pay lip service to Hunley and his resolve hardened. He and Ethan had their issues, but they'd keep. Getting into the secured computer facility which happened to be inaccessible except underwater was the matter at hand.

Plus, they had a name. Solomon Lane. Benji felt Ethan's palpable relief at having a name to go with the face that had haunted him for so long. Ilsa's plan to steal the ledger from the facility was a sound one, even if it meant that Ethan would have to hold his breath for an inordinately long time, and Benji's life would depend on Ethan success. But Benji didn't even blink. Ethan would do it. They'd get the ledger. They'd be one huge step closer to beating Lane and the Syndicate.

It took two days to assemble the equipment needed to pull off this heist, two days in which Benji checked and rechecked their gear, and Ilsa spotted Ethan while he crash-trained on holding his breath for minutes at a time. They spent hours outside in the pool, Ilsa strong and lithe, Ethan bared to the waist in swimming trunks Ilsa just happened to have on hand in the proper size.

Benji gazed at them from the relative cool of the living room, checking the signal jammer they'd use to get Ilsa and Ethan past the first layer of security. Ethan had just come up for air and his torso glittered as water droplets reflected the bright Moroccan sun. He was breathing hard, and examining the biometric tracker he wore on his left arm, while Ilsa spoke, articulating with her long, expressive fingers. He shut his eyes for a moment against the glare, against the wave of pain. It hurt to look at him, the way it hurt to look directly at the sun. He was too beautiful, too blinding, and Benji was too weak to be able to withstand the full force of his power.

His mind flashed back to the dark Belarussian motel room where they'd spent the night of Ethan's birthday. They'd made love, and Benji had never felt so alive, so cherished. Yet, he hadn't been able to shake the feeling that he was still not on Ethan's level. He'd told Ethan that night that he was like the sun. Ethan had responded that he was just a man. Benji had wanted to believe him.

Now, watching him dive and dive and dive again, focused and serious, except for the occasional grin when something Ilsa said made him break—it was hard to square it. Ethan wasn't just Ethan. He was Ethan Hunt, a one-man IMF, who belonged in the company of glamorous femme fatales like Ilsa. Perhaps Benji had done him a favor.

He sighed and moved to a different chair, so his back was to the golden couple outside. He had a job to do.

Ethan
March 2015
Casablanca

2:18
2:19
2:20

Ethan stared at the numbers counting up, simulated the motions of replacing one data card with another, moving slowly and carefully through the water.

2:40
2:41
2:42

He held his breath as long as he could, and then rose to the surface, inhaling quickly to combat the effects of long-term oxygen deprivation. The time clicked over to three minutes as he panted.

"Shit, not long enough," he said, when he had enough breath to speak.

Ilsa frowned. "It should be long enough."

"That's only if nothing goes wrong. And believe me, something always goes wrong."

"Let's take a break," Ilsa suggested, pushing herself over the side of the pool and heading for the patio where she'd left water and snacks earlier.

"One more round," Ethan said.

"No. You'll exhaust yourself." Her tone made it clear that this wasn't a debate, and the last thing Ethan wanted to do was dive back down into the water, so he agreed, stepping out of the pool, letting the sun dry him as he traded his goggles for his Ray Bans.

"Tell me more about Lane," Ethan said.

"There's not much to tell. He was like you and me. But he started too young and he got out too late and it twisted him. But he's very smart. Smart, and ruthless."

"That much I knew," Ethan said, thinking of the girl in the record shop. He took a long drink of water. "Tell me about you."

Ilsa put on one of her Mona Lisa smiles. "I'm boring."

"Clearly. Boring is definitely the first word that comes to mind when I think of you," Ethan said dryly.

Ilsa laughed. "Seriously. All I do is work."

"Ah. I knew there was something I recognized about you," Ethan said lightly. "And do you like it? Your work?"

"Sometimes," she said. "Sometimes it's too awful for words."

"Yeah," Ethan said. "That about sums it up."

"But we soldier on," she said, pushing the tray of olives and cheese toward him.

"If something happens tomorrow, and I don't make it out of the torus, I need to ask something of you."

"Favors already? I've saved your life twice. Shouldn't I be the one asking the favors?"

"Ask away," Ethan said.

"Hmmm. I think I'll save mine up for when I really need it."

"Fair enough."

"What's your request, then?"

"Benji."

Ilsa smiled. "Oh." She seemed amused, but not surprised.

"If I don't make it out, and he's got the ledger, I need you to protect it—and him."

"He's an IMF field agent. Don't you think he can protect himself?"

"I think he's going to need help to avoid Lane's people. Once you have what you want, you can lead them away from him."

Ilsa looked thoughtful. "You've known Benji a long time, haven't you?"

"Yes." Too long. Not long enough.

"What did he do to you?"

Ethan looked up sharply at that. What did he—? Ethan considered the question. He'd given Ethan a second chance at happiness. He'd made him think that relationships weren't anathema to working for the IMF. He'd given Ethan more pleasure than anyone else he'd ever been with.

And then he'd stabbed him through the heart and taken it all away with one word.

Ethan had barely slept since that night. He kept seeing Benji's face, kept hearing that word. Over. Ethan hadn't known what else to do besides accept what Benji was telling him. The words that had slipped out right after—"This is what you want?"—he'd said those exact words once upon a time. To Julia. She'd ended things because she could no longer be the wife of someone who lived like Ethan did. And, like muscle memory, he'd responded the same way to Benji. He'd had to. He was screaming at himself to fight, to fight for them. But a lifetime of discipline made him stop, to see that the more immediate fight was against the Syndicate. Fighting for Benji would have to wait.

But that didn't mean that every second they spent apart didn't hurt like breathing in glass. He kept trying to reach out for Benji, to clasp him on the shoulder, to run a hand over his thigh, to lean into chest, to breathe him in. But he wasn't allowed anymore.

Ethan wasn't doing a very good job of hiding it if Ilsa could see there was something off between them.

So what had Benji done to Ethan? The question was, what had Ethan done to Benji, besides lie and push and selfishly keep only so close and no closer?

Ethan looked at Ilsa, feeling the despair etched on his face, seeing understanding and maybe a trace of pity bloom on Ilsa's. "Promise me you'll do what you can."

She nodded. "If you don't make it out, I will. I promise." Then she smiled, bright and incongruously cheerful. "But you'll make it. According to Benji, this mission is not impossible, after all."

Ethan hoped they were right.

***

Benji
March 2015
Casablanca

The night before the mission to steal Lane's ledger Benji tossed and turned in the compound's comfortable second best guest room and finally rose before dawn, giving up on the idea of a good night's sleep. He put the kettle on in the kitchen and sat on a stool trying to think of anything besides the fact that—no matter how insouciant he'd been about it to his face—Ethan could die today trying to save Benji from apprehension once inside the facility.

Benji sensed Ethan's presence before he heard him. He was just a shadow at the doorway to the kitchen, wearing his black sleep clothes, then he stepped into the room and Benji instantly registered everything about him, from the day's worth of beard, ever so slightly going gray, to the circles under his eyes. He wasn't the only one finding sleep elusive, apparently.

"You ready for today?" Ethan's voice was a rusty knife to Benji's gut.

He didn't answer, picked up the kettle and poured hot water into the mug of breakfast tea he'd prepared. He watched the steam rising off the top. "Ethan, if something goes wrong out there, I want you to get out of the torus before it's too late. Don't worry about me, okay?"

"What?"

"If it comes down to it, I don't want you to do something stupid. Go too far. You know what I mean. I'll be okay, even if you don't manage to switch the security profile before I get there."

Ethan made a sound that Benji couldn't quite interpret. "That's not how this works, Benji."

"What do you mean?"

"It means I'm going to protect you no matter what."

"No, you need to protect yourself."

"I've tried that. It always seems to backfire on me." They were no longer talking about just the mission.

"Look, if you want to be stubborn about this, fine. But, please—take care of yourself?"

"I thought this mission didn't sound impossible," Ethan said, his voice slightly lighter.

"I know what I said—" Benji ran a hand over his mouth, over his beard. This wasn't coming out right at all. "Jesus, Ethan, will you just not die on me? Okay? Do you know that would do to me?"

It was basically a rhetorical question, but Ethan's answer came nonetheless, low and serious. "I do know, Benji. Because the same goes for you."

Tears pricked at Benji's eyes. Fuck. As confused as he was, he knew Ethan meant it. He swallowed the sob that threatened to spill out of him. He needed to get a grip. "Fine. Then we're agreed. I won't die today if you don't."

"Are we making a not-dying pact?" Ilsa said, strolling into the kitchen looking like a million bucks in cream silk pajamas, hair in a messy knot on her head. Even sans makeup at five in the morning she looked like a forties Hollywood star. "If so, I want in, please."

The tension was broken. Benji said, "Of course, there's always room for one more in a not-dying pact," and the three of them set about the business of the doing the impossible.

***

Benji wouldn't say he was the most nervous he'd ever been in his life walking down the gait analysis runway for the final stage of security before being able to access the ledger, but the experience was up there. He was more worried for Ethan as the seconds counted down and he hadn't heard from either him or Ilsa. He forced himself to put one foot down in front of the other and then, suddenly, he'd made it.

He downloaded two copies of the data files stored in the facility as a matter of course, and booked it out of there as fast as he could, determined to set eyes on Ethan and confirm that it had been a walk in the park for him. It took him less than five minutes to get from the parking lot at the facility to the location they'd staked out ahead of time where the water from the torus emptied into a sewer runoff in a commercial district of the city. He parked and grabbed the bag with changes of clothes, expecting to find Ethan and Isla pacing, waiting for his arrival so they could all make their way to a secure location and examine what was on the ledger.

Instead he saw Ilsa, wet and shivering, kneeling over Ethan, whose wetsuit had been peeled down to his waist. His heart stopped when he saw the defibrillator, and wasn't that ironic?

"Jesus. Is he all right? What happened?" He raced down the stairs. Ethan's color was off, but not too blue, while his eyes were rolling around his head with disorientation. Ilsa didn't answer him but it was clear enough what had happened. Ethan had run out of air and run out of time and instead of letting him drown in the torus, Ilsa had gone in after him and gotten them both out. When she couldn't get a pulse, she'd zapped him with the defibrillator. Ethan was breathing, and conscious, and it could have been so much worse.

He ignored the way Ilsa's hand was clutching Ethan's shoulder, as if she needed the reassurance that he was still alive. Benji knew the feeling. He caught her gaze, nodded. She probably already knew that Ethan meant more to him than just as a field-agent-in-arms. "Okay, okay. Here." He handed her some clothes, gave her a small smile. He still didn't know if he trusted her completely, but he owed her for saving Ethan's life.

She took the clothes and then Benji only had eyes for Ethan. He climbed up on the ledge next to him, taking inventory, making sure he had no visible wounds. "Hey, how you doing?" Dumb question, but Ethan didn't look up to anything more complex right now.

"Benji," Ethan said, registering his face as if for the first time.

There was a surge of relief mixed with concern that Ethan seemed pretty out of it. "Yeah, you did good. And you managed not to die. Just barely." He glanced over at Ilsa, saw that she had half her clothes off and flicked his gaze away just as quickly. "Take a moment, all right. We'll get you someplace safe, get you fixed up. You'll be right as rain."

"What are you doing here?" Ethan sounded confused.

"Look, we got it. I knew we'd get it." He showed the drive to Ethan proudly, as if showing him that his sacrifice hadn't been for nothing would help him recover more quickly. Benji was just trying to restrain himself from throwing this arms around the man he loved and squeezing him to prove that he was okay. Again, he no longer had the right, and with Ilsa right there he had to content himself with touching his shoulder. They needed to get him dry and maybe even see a doctor.

"Look, I appreciate everything you do for me, but one of these days you're going to take it too far." Benji's brain was just catching up to the fact that Ethan had actually literally died so Benji could complete the mission. He felt a little giddy, as if he'd been the one who'd been oxygen deprived. At least they'd gotten what they'd come for. "We got it. We're going to nail—"

Chapter Text

Ethan
March 2015
Casablanca

"Wait…wait…" For some reason Ethan's brain, mouth, and body were out of sync with each other. He rolled onto his side with effort, in time to see Ilsa escaping with the drive. He pushed himself onto his knees, head spinning, stomach roiling. Benji was out cold on the concrete ledge. Shit.

He crawled over to Benji, blinking to clear his vision. He took Benji's pulse, which was steady. He was already starting to come around as Ethan said his name over and over. "Benji, wake up. Benji. Please. Wake up. Please. Benji."

Benji came to with a jolt and a groan as he curled into the fetal position. Ethan gasped in relief. They weren't at their best, to be sure, but they'd both made it through the mission alive. The not-dying pact was intact. For now, anyway.

"What the fuck was that? She stole the disk didn't she? And just when I was beginning to like her, too." Benji vented for a while as Ethan peeled the rest of his wetsuit off with clumsy fingers. He rummaged around in the pack for his clothes, not bothering to reply. When he was mostly dressed, he grabbed Benji by the arms and hauled him up. They had no time to waste.

"Can you walk?" Now that they were both mobile, they had to focus. Unfortunately, just forming words and the semblance of a plan was taking all of Ethan's concentration. He leaned against Benji, just for a second, just to steady himself.

"Yes." Benji frowned down at him. What? Ethan remembered he wasn't supposed to lean on Benji anymore, and let go as if he'd been shocked.

"We have to get to her before Lane does." Ilsa thought she knew what she was doing, but Ethan was worried about her. She'd crossed Lane too many times, and another questionable outcome might be the end for her.

Benji grabbed the pack and they stumbled out of the dark into the blown-out light of the Moroccan afternoon. The car was right where they left it. Piece of cake. All they had to do was catch up to Ilsa before Lane and his minions. He launched himself over the hood in a move he'd done a dozen times. Only this time instead of landing on his feet, he landed on his head. Weird.

No matter. He slammed his hand against the window to unlock the vehicle. Benji cried, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Are you all right to drive? A minute ago you were dead."

Dead? What? "What are you talking about?" It didn't matter. He opened the door, and Benji got in the other side, muttering under his breath. He didn't have time for Benji right now. They had to stay on top of the situation. The situation? The situation….with Ilsa, right. That was it.

Okay, he wasn't in top form, but his muscle memory kicked into gear along with the car. He peeled out, and it wasn't long before they were in a full-out high-speed chase through twisty city streets, racing a half dozen baddies in matching biker gang uniforms to see who could get to Ilsa first.

***

In the end, she outsmarted them all, despite the unexpected but welcome reinforcement provided by Luther and Will's sudden appearance. All of Ethan's hasty, perhaps even ill-advised, moves during the chase had been for naught. Ilsa and the disk were gone.

As the dust along the highway cleared, Ethan took stock. His mouth was full of dirt. His eyes stung from the same. He had road rash and whiplash and contact burns on his chest from the defibrillator. He'd let Ilsa down; she was heading into a lion's den. He'd let his friends down; they'd risked their careers to keep him out of the hands of the CIA, on the slim chance he'd actually be able to prove the damn Syndicate was real. And he'd let Benji down. He'd vowed to protect him and somehow he'd thought that flipping a car end over end as a strategy was okay because he had his seat belt buckled.

Ethan pulled himself to standing, walked stiffly over to the commandeered motorcycle. He felt like shit. He deserved to feel worse. But he put on his sunglasses, climbed on the bike. He wasn't giving up. He wasn't dead yet.

Benji
March 2015
Morocco

Of course, Ethan was gone before Will and Luther had even pulled him from the wrecked BMW. Benji could only blink into the sun as the figure on the motorcycle turned into a speck on the horizon. He hoped that after drowning, being shocked back to life, and surviving a self-inflicted car crash, Ethan had enough brain cells left to keep himself alive for a few more hours.

"Crazy bastard," he said, mostly to himself. But Will and Luther heard, smirked.

"Ethan never changes," Luther said with a shrug.

"Yeah." Benji's voice was flat, and Will glanced at him sharply.

"Everything okay, Benji?"

Saying out loud that he and Ethan were no longer together would make it too real, but Will deserved to know what was going on if they were going to be working together. "Erm. Not really. We…broke up."

"Shit, man. I'm sorry," Will said immediately.

"You broke up…a fight?" Luther sounded confused.

Benji just stared at Luther, until comprehension dawned. "You didn't know. He didn't tell you." They hadn't made it public knowledge, but Benji figured Ethan would have told one of his oldest friends about the change in relationship status with one his other oldest friends. "Great. That's great. This is exactly why—" Benji stopped, pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and took a centering breath. "You know what? It doesn't matter. We have to keep Ethan in one piece and go after Lane."

"Who's Lane?" Will asked the same moment Luther said, "You and Ethan?"

"Jesus, you guys are behind. I'll catch you up in the car." They piled into the four-by-four, after removing anything that could identify them from the crashed BMW. Sirens indicating local law enforcement could be heard in the distance as Will pushed the accelerator down and headed in the direction that Ethan and Ilsa had gone.

Benji gave them the key details, leaving out any of the personal stuff, deciding it wasn't relevant. He gave them the rather meager info on Solomon Lane that Ilsa had shared with them, the fact that there was a ledger with all of the data about his organization that could prove the Syndicate was real and get them all off the hook with Hunley, and that the three of them had managed to liberate it. "Ethan nearly died, but Ilsa saved him. Then she stole the disk and we tried to stop her. I think Ethan's worried that Lane won't hesitate to kill her for the disk."

"Saving Ethan's life is beginning to be a habit for her," Will said.

Benji ignored the sour bite of jealousy that Will's words inspired in him. He was happy that Ilsa had saved Ethan's life. Of course he was. He only wished…actually, he didn't know what he wished. That Ethan didn't need saving? That Benji could be the one to do it? Everything was so confused and fucked up and it was just as much Benji's fault as anybody's, and the knowledge of that made him grumpy.

They spotted the wreckage of two of the bikes, didn't slow down. A little ways along Benji's phone rang. He picked up. "Yes?"

Ethan's voice, gravel-rough, rattled off an address, which Benji repeated and Luther punched into the GPS. Minutes later they rolled the four-by-four to a stop at the restaurant-slash-hotel, another one of the bikes parked outside.

They entered the relative cool of the restaurant slowly. Ethan sat, unseeing, at a table. He looked like hell. Benji's heart unhelpfully wanted to brush the dust off his shoulders, run a hand through his untidy hair. But he just followed Will and Luther in taking a seat. His neck and back twinged, a side effect of being in a car wreck. He no doubt had whiplash. He could use a massage and an epsom salt bath. Among other things.

"So what do we do now?" Luther asked.

Ethan looked at a loss, then turned to look at Benji. "Please tell me you made a copy of that disk."

Benji felt his chest swell with something like pride. He may not have saved Ethan from drowning, or a sniper, or the Bone Doctor. But he knew how to make copies of digital files like nobody's business. He pulled the duplicate flash drive out of his pocket and held it up like a trophy. "Of course I made a copy."

Ethan's small smile and nod of approval made Benji feel like he was ten feet tall. It gave him hope that even if their relationship was past repairing, at least they could still work together. At least he could still back Ethan up when it counted.

Luther and Will relaxed a fraction, and Will asked, "So where are we going?"

Ethan thought for a minute. "If Ilsa has the disk, she's not taking it to Lane. She'll take it to her handler. In London."

"London," Will repeated.

"London?" Benji said. "But that's where this mess started. With Lane and Ilsa and the record shop and—"

"London's where it started, and London's where it's gonna end," Ethan said. "I just need a shower and a change of clothes."

"You need medical attention, is what you need," Benji said.

"No time. We've got to get to London before Lane catches up to Ilsa. She's dead if he finds her before she gets brought in out of the cold."

"Who cares?" Benji said. "Ilsa's not our problem anymore. We have the disk. We can take it to Hunley and get this whole mess cleared up, plus get reinforcements to go after Lane."

Ethan frowned. Will looked contemplative. "If the disk contains what Ilsa says it does, then yeah, it might be enough to go to Hunley with."

"But Ilsa—"

"Ilsa can take care of her herself," Benji argued. "She's certainly proved that time and again." He rubbed a sore spot on his back and grimaced. His skin felt tender where she'd shocked him.

"But—"

It was Luther who spoke up this time. "She'll be all right as long as she has the disk. She can use it as a bargaining chip if she has to. Let's focus on us right now, getting someplace safe, securing ourselves and the disk, too. You're not any use to her in the shape you're in now, Ethan."

Benji wasn't sure Luther's logic would work on Ethan, but in the end, he nodded. "Fine. We'll take tonight, go to London tomorrow."

After that, it was just a matter of getting back in the four-by-four, leaving the motorbike behind, driving back to Casablanca, switching vehicles, dropping by their gear stash, loading up on cash and clothes, leaving behind weapons. Will found them a commercial flight in the morning, and a hotel near the airport where he booked two rooms, as was standard IMF protocol: safety in numbers. So much of their lives was spent in transition from one place to another, they had gotten good at letting down a little when they were forced into inaction by virtue of the fact that no one had yet invented a teleportation device. It still took time to get from point A to point B. Even Ilsa was probably twelve hours away from London at best. They had a minute to breath, a minute to regroup.

Unfortunately, a minute to breathe left Benji a minute to think. And whenever his mind started thinking about anything besides the mess they were in, it started thinking about Ethan. About how close they'd gotten over the past year, about how much they'd shared with each other. About how it felt like they were throwing away something pretty fucking wonderful. About how he wished sometimes that they were the only two people on the planet, so they could be free of their baggage, free to belong to each other totally.

Benji realized that he'd always felt Ethan couldn't truly be his, because neither of them was free to commit to the other entirely. Not when their first allegiance was to their duty, to the IMF, to caring about the world more than they cared about themselves. To find out that Ethan cared about the world, the job, and his actual wife, more than he cared for Benji, well, it was wasn't surprising. But it surprised Benji how much it hurt. He supposed he'd believed Ethan when he'd said that he felt lucky to know Benji, lucky to be with him. Luck had nothing to do with it. Bad luck, perhaps, that Benji had fallen so deeply, so irrevocably in love with someone who could never love him the same way.

Luther was driving and he pulled up to their hotel. Before Will went to the front desk to get their rooms, Benji tugged on his arm, whispered, "You and me can share, right?"

Will's gaze slid to Ethan in the front seat, then back instantly. "Sure thing."

Maybe it was cowardly, but he couldn't be alone with Ethan right now.

Ethan
March 2015
Morocco

Ethan and Luther had shared quarters many, many times in the nearly twenty years they'd known each other, but Ethan had never seen Luther quite this…stiff around him. They'd gotten into their comfortable room with two king-sized beds, and Luther had promptly disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Ethan sore and dusty and at loose ends. Eventually, he called for room service, since they hadn't stopped to eat since breakfast, and waited for Luther to come out.

When he did, dressed in sweats, he barely acknowledged Ethan's room service report, just told him the bathroom was free. Ethan was too tired to figure out what was going on, just set the bath to fill with steaming hot water, and climbed in, nearly forgetting to take off his clothes beforehand. He hoped he wouldn't fall asleep in the bath.

He submerged himself, feeling every one of his fifty years in the myriad of twinges and bruises and scrapes and burns. If things were different, Benji would have been there, sluicing water over his head, ready to slather on the antibacterial ointment, to press gentle kisses to the bruises. They'd fall into the same bed, taking comfort in the fact that even though it had been a hell of a day, they were still alive, still breathing, still able to hold each other.

But Benji was six rooms away. Might as well have been six miles, or six hundred, or six thousand. Ethan grabbed the soap, started scrubbing away the desert sand, heedless of his scrapes and burns, relishing the sting.

When he hauled himself out a few minutes later, he heard Luther moving around and the clinking of silverware and dishes. Luther seemed mad at him. It had taken him a while to figure out that's what the stiffness implied, firstly because he still felt rattled after the day's events, but second because he couldn't remember very many occasions where Luther was actually upset with him on a personal level.

He put on his own sweats, went out to face the music. Luther was eating. The food smelled surprisingly good—cardamom and ginger and lamb. Ethan sat carefully on the edge of his bed, pulled the tray that Luther indicated toward him.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, until Ethan broke. "Okay, have I fucked up in some way?"

Luther sighed, set aside his plate. "So you and Benji?"

Ethan's appetite vanished.

"You want to tell me what's going on with you?"

Ethan took a minute to gather his thoughts. He suddenly wanted to tell Luther everything, and for Luther to tell him what to do. But he was afraid that Luther would look at the evidence at tell him he'd messed up beyond repair.

"Remember when I first told you about Julia? You tried to talk me out of it. You said a normal relationship wasn't viable for people like us."

"I remember."

"You gave the two of us twenty three months. Well, we outlasted that by a couple of years, because Julia and and I are both stubborn as hell. But you weren't wrong. The baggage, the lifestyle. You know. And you know Julia. You know we tried. I thought if we were honest with each other, if she knew what we were up against, we could beat the odds. But you were right about something else—I wasn't just messing with my own life, but with hers, with her future. That's why I let her go. So she could have a chance at a future."

Luther nodded. He knew all of this. He'd been there when Ethan had taken a step back from the field, then had taken those tentative steps back in; he'd been Ethan's eyes and ears where Julia was concerned more than once. Ethan owed him for that, a debt he could never repay.

"I thought that this time, if the person I was with knew everything going in, it would be different. I thought if I did it differently, it would end differently. Or, I don't know, not end at all." Benji's eyes, angry and sad when he said it was over, flashed into Ethan's mind and he sighed. "That hasn't exactly worked out. Because you said it was the dishonesty that kills our relationships. I wasn't honest with him. I never told him what happened to Julia, why it ended, how it ended. He thought she was dead."

Luther made a sound halfway between a groan and a tsk. "You didn't tell him your wife was still alive, and you didn't tell me that you and he were together."

"I know, I know, I'm a piece of shit. I thought—I didn't know what I thought. I think I was afraid."

"For the record, you're not a piece of shit, Ethan. But you always think you have to do everything on your own. That making a relationship work is all on you. It's not. It's on both of you. But you have to give him a fair shot."

"So you don't think that me and Benji isn't just as bad an idea as me and Julia?"

"Ethan, if I could take all that stuff about relationships back, I would. What the fuck do I know? Julia was one in a million. You had to take that shot. And she's doing well, you know that."

Ethan didn't respond.

"And I can't say that I'm not surprised that you and Benji went for it—mostly because I never thought either of you would have the guts to do something—but I am surprised you were able to keep it from me. Didn't you want me know?"

"I don't know. It wasn't a purposeful thing. I just…when it started, it was right before Christmas and you and I barely worked together last year except for that time in Odessa, and then the whole CIA takeover thing happened and you had your own worries…" Ethan shrugged. "It was stupid. Of course I wanted you to know. I was happy. I knew you'd be happy for us, too. But all that's moot. He dumped me."

"People get back together," Luther said calmly.

"He thinks I care about him less than I care about the job. He thinks I'm still in love with Julia."

Luther said nothing.

Ethan forced himself to voice the feelings he'd been having for days. "Neither of those things are true. He won't be safe until Lane and the Syndicate are neutralized, which is why I can't stop until they are. And I love Julia. I'll always love her. But I'm not in love with her anymore."

"Don't you think you should be telling him this stuff, not me?"

"He's hasn't wanted to listen."

"You haven't been trying hard enough."

Ethan laughed. Luther never let him get away with anything. "Fuck, Luther." He laughed harder, wiping at his eyes. "It's not the job that makes my relationships fail. It's me."

"Ethan Matthew Hunt, you listen to me." Luther waited until Ethan raised his head. "You broke into the goddamn CIA. You stole a NOC list right from under their noses. You put the possible into the Impossible Mission Force. Don't tell me you can't convince someone who's as in love with you as Benji Dunn is in love with you to give you a second chance."

Ethan squinted at Luther. "You think?"

"I know."

For the first time since Vienna, Ethan felt a spark of hope flare in his chest. "And you know everything."

Chapter Text

Ethan
March 2015
Morocco/London

Ethan wanted to honor Benji's implicit request for space, and after his talk with Luther had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep. He was shaken awake by Luther, who was already dressed and packed.

"Wheels up in ninety minutes. We have new papers."

Ethan stretched, gratified to find that he felt much better after—he checked his watch—twelve hours of sleep. He hadn't slept that long in ages.

His body had always had a quick recovery time, and it seemed his cells had been busy repairing themselves overnight because after he showered and downed an anti-inflammatory and a liter of water, he felt pretty good. Maybe it was the rest. Maybe it was sense that Luther had knocked into him last night.

He'd been letting fear keep him from being honest with Benji, and from telling him what he really wanted. He'd been so worried about repeating his mistakes that he'd made entirely new ones. But they could be fixed. He could fix this, and make Benji understand that he'd become the most important person in the entire world to Ethan.

He still didn't know what was going to happen next. Lane was a formidable enemy, one whose ability to see ten chess moves in advance made him dangerous. But no enemy was perfect, no enemy was without weakness. Ethan was starting to see that Lane's belief that he could dictate the moves of all the pieces on the board might be the way to turn his calculations against him.

But it was impossible to plan before they knew what was on the disk, and Luther had already said he needed equipment that he hadn't brought with him to look at it. They'd have to wait until London, and hopefully they could also check on Ilsa, make sure she'd gotten to safety and as far away from Lane as possible.

He hated to put off talking to Benji. But none of them were safe until Lane and Syndicate was under control—not least because the CIA wasn't just going to let four rogue agents remain at large indefinitely. Hunley would see them as liabilities and he'd make life difficult if they couldn't end this.

Ethan considered finding a moment alone with Benji before they got to their destination, but he knew that an airplane didn't provide the greatest atmosphere for baring one's soul. He needed every advantage he could get. He needed privacy, maybe a bribe in the form of Thai food. He wasn't above manipulating Benji a little to at least be heard. This was too important to play fair. Even if Benji didn't take him back—and at that thought the bottom dropped out of Ethan's stomach—he deserved to know the truth.

The truth. Ethan grabbed his bag, his new passport, his sunglasses. He'd tell Benji the truth if it was the last thing he did.

***

London was gray and cool when they arrived. There was no one waiting for them at Gatwick—no CIA suits, no cronies of Lane. No Ilsa. They were on their own.

Ethan had cumulatively spent years in London. He knew it well. He loved it, actually, despite the fact that he'd had some tough times here. He pushed away the horrible memories: realizing that Jim Phelps had murdered Jack and the others, the sting of Claire's betrayal. The girl in the record shop. Being beaten and shot at and forced to go on the run.

But London was also where he and Benji had spent their first full night together. Those two precious, uninterrupted days, exploring each other, giving in to all of the urges to touch, to taste, to smell that they'd each held in check for so long.

So yeah, he had plenty of good memories of London, too.

They headed to the city center. He avoided the part of town with the flat they'd borrowed that weekend, just over a year ago now. He skipped the rentals on Liverpool Street that he used to frequent. They needed space, and they needed to be central. They couldn't afford to be far from the action, not when they were so close to the finish.

He made a call and found a warehouse in the midst of a stalled renovation that could be leased on short notice. Enough money made even outlandish requests like instant real estate transactions in central London possible.

Luther made a quick stop for gear, Will and Benji went to get food, and they met back at their newly minted safe house. While Luther booted everything up, Ethan tried to gauge Benji's mood. He didn't seem upset. On the contrary, he'd avoided being alone with Ethan, yes, but he didn't seem angry or uncomfortable. It seemed he'd reverted into his normal mission persona—focused, wary, prepared. Ethan told himself it was a good thing that they could work together even if their personal life had gone off the rails a bit, even as he wanted nothing more than to grab Benji by the shoulders, shake him, demand that he give him a second chance—

He saw Luther make a face. "What's happening?"

"I can't open it," Luther said.

"What do you mean you can't open it?"

"I mean, I can't open it. Ever."

Benji was looking over Luther's shoulder. "That's a red box," he said.

Shit.

Ethan's mind raced furiously to put the pieces together. If he could try to think like Lane, to see the patterns that Lane saw, to see what outcomes he wanted, then maybe he could put a stop to them. Not one step ahead. Not six. But maybe ten. Twelve. However many it took to stop the bastard in his tracks—permanently.

Red box. Prime Minister. British government. MI6. Each puzzle piece swirled around in his brain. He closed his eyes. Maybe they didn't have enough of the pieces to see the full picture yet. They had the disk, but so did Ilsa. If Lane had her copy, then he needed a way to open it. And Ethan had noticed his tendency to manipulate people into doing his dirty work for him without them even realizing they were doing it.

Warning the British government wasn't going to solve the problem. He didn't trust anyone outside this room. Not even Ilsa. But she'd used him, so maybe he could use her.

Will, ever the optimistic fatalist, who still believed that governments and countries and even bureaucrats might do the right thing if given a chance, was yelling at him, but Ethan knew this was a war that couldn't be won by playing by the rules or fighting fair. He didn't believe such a war had ever existed.

"We're going to find Lane. We're going to get him, before he takes the Prime Minister." Ethan's voice was fierce.

Will acquiesced. "Okay. All right, Ethan. We're going to find Lane. But please tell me, how are we going to do that?"

"Cherchez la femme."

***

Luther transferred his frustration at being unable to hack into the red box by putting all of his skills and energy toward finding Ilsa as quickly as possible.

Will, grumpy but resigned, went to get them all coffee.

Which left Benji doing what he often did when there was downtime—check and recheck their gear, weapons, assets. Ethan found him plugging the portable mask molding machine into the charger in the antechamber they were using as a storeroom. Ethan watched him from the doorway for a second. He looked none the worse for wear after their antics in Morocco, but then he put a hand to his shoulder and rubbed.

"Neck bothering you?"

Benji started slightly at Ethan's voice, but then he relaxed, turned around. "No, it's okay. Just a bit of whiplash."

Ethan grimaced. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Hey, we survived." Benji's voice was casual, but Ethan could tell he was working hard at being nonchalant.

"I wasn't at my best," Ethan said. "Maybe there was something I could have done differently, but I couldn't see it at the time. I'd never intentionally put you through something that dangerous if there was another way."

"I know." Benji smiled ruefully. "Sometimes crashing a car is the only way."

Ethan wondered if breaking up with him had been Benji's version of crashing the car that was their relationship. Drastic, effective, and incidentally extremely painful. "Sometimes it is."

"Ethan, I—" Benji started to say the same time Ethan said, "Benji, there's—" and they both stopped, laughed uncomfortably, and then Benji said, "Go on, then," and Ethan wanted to kiss him more than he wanted to breathe. But instead he nodded, grateful for Benji's letting him talk.

"Benji, we have to end this with Lane."

"I know."

"But you and me, we're not done. There's so much I need to say to you, need to tell you. Can you trust me, one more time, that when this is over and done with we'll talk? That we'll figure it out."

There was a pause. Ethan held his breath.

Benji made an audible sigh. "I'm not…I'm not sure that's going to change anything. But if there are things you want to say, then I'll listen. I promise."

It wasn't nearly enough, but it was something to work with. Ethan nodded. "Okay. Thank you." He smiled at Benji. He wanted Benji to smile back, to tell him it was going to be okay. That they were going to work it out. That they'd be back where they belonged—together—when this was all over. But he couldn't demand that from him. It had to be given freely. "So, what were you going to say?"

"What? Oh. Just that I'm glad you're not dead. You kind of broke the not-dying pact, but I guess since you came back, it's still in effect. So I'm holding you to it."

Ethan felt his forehead scrunch up in confusion. "When did I break—oh. The torus. Right." He didn't really remember much after switching the data cards until those fuzzy moments after Ilsa ran away with the flash drive, trying to revive Benji. He'd supposed he'd lost consciousness. But it was just as likely the he'd been without oxygen so long he'd actually…died. But only for a little while. That didn't count. It had happened before, after all.

"I'm glad you're glad I'm not dead," he said finally. It was true, and it made Benji smile, a little. Ethan counted that smile as a small victory.

And then Luther called from the other room. "I got her!"

Benji
March 2015
London

Benji felt lighter than he had in days as they made their way to the train terminal to meet Ilsa. They had the flash drive, even if they couldn't open it. Ilsa was in one piece, though her current situation was a bit fuzzy. He felt better knowing that Will and Luther were again part of the crew. Many hands made light work and all that. And he and Ethan—they had unfinished business, but they were all right for the moment.

Benji could see that forcing Lane into a final act was their top priority. But there was something satisfying about knowing that Ethan wasn't going to leave it at that. That he had things to say to Benji. Benji didn't let himself dwell on what those things might be—he didn't want his romantic notions to carry him away. Instead, he concentrated on the play they were about to enact. Ethan and Ilsa, inching the chess pieces forward on the board. At least this time Ethan had three pawns to back him up.

They took up their positions. Benji caught sight of Ilsa, perfectly turned out as always, and gave her a cheeky little wave. She deserved it after the way she'd knocked him out at their last encounter.

The pair of them settled at a table and the the play began. Benji covered Ethan's six intently.

"So that's her?" Will asked.

"That's her," Benji confirmed flatly. He didn't care what Ethan read in his voice.

"…you were just doing your job," Ethan said. That was Ethan, letting her off the hook, even if she'd only been honest with them they might have been able to work together and get ahead of Lane. He was too generous by half.

Ilsa took Ethan's forgiveness with grace. Benji had to say that even if she didn't always adhere to the code of honor among agents, she usually seemed to feel badly about her transgressions.

But then she said about the disk, "You know perfectly well it was blank," and he had to protest.

"That's a lie. The disk she took from me was an exact copy. I'm sure of it."

"Was it in your possession the entire time?" Ethan apparently had the same idea as Benji. If her disk was blank, that meant someone had erased it.

Ilsa considered this for a moment, then sighed. "They don't care if you live or die." Her handler had sent her back to Lane with a blank disk—why? That was tantamount to a death sentence.

Then something else occurred to Benji, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. That means Lane doesn't have the disk. Only we do." It seemed they'd stolen something that Lane wanted very badly, and he'd used their own desire to bring him down against them in order to get it. Benji really hated this guy.

"…we only think we're fighting for the right side because that's what we choose to believe," Ilsa said. She was getting dark, but Benji couldn't disagree, considering their own government had shut down the IMF, thrown them into carelessly into CIA jail via desk jobs, considered them traitors for trying to track down an international terrorist, and would very likely shoot them on sight if they had half a chance. "The way I see it, you have three choices." Ilsa enumerated choice one and choice two. The insight she displayed toward Ethan's MO was startling and made a twinge of jealousy flare up in Benji's chest. He hated that she seemed to know Ethan as well as he did. But then she made her third proposal and his heart stopped.

"Come away with me." She spoke calmly, as if she wasn't proposing blowing up Benji's world from the inside out. "Right now."

Luther broke the silence with a lowly uttered, "Oh boy," which did not help.

Benji couldn't see Ethan's face, but thought his saw his jaw tense. "And what about Lane?" Ethan asked quietly. It wasn't a no, and Benji felt his palms go sweaty.

"Forget about Lane. There will always be another Lane. There will always be people like us to face him. We've done our part and we've been cast aside. We can be anyone. We can do anything. It's only a matter of going."

There was a long pause. Benji repeated her speech in his mind. It was a speech that if he was a different type of person he might have made to Ethan himself. But there was one big difference. Ilsa might have thought she knew Ethan well. But Benji knew him better. He knew her argument wouldn't work. Ethan didn't care if his government betrayed him, time and time again. His loyalty was to something greater than a single agency, a single government. His loyalty was to doing the right thing, to owning up to the fact that he was sometimes the only person who could do the right thing. And he would do it, no matter what sacrifices he had to make. He'd never be so selfish as to abandon the world to the likes of Lane just because the world owed him. Ethan didn't think that way.

Benji knew, before Ethan said anything at all, that he would reject Ilsa's offer, and see this thing through.

"Lane sent you to deliver a message, didn't he?"

Yes. Benji wanted to crow in Ilsa's face. He knew Ethan, and Ethan hadn't let him down.

"What's the mes—" Benji felt a sting on the back of his neck, and then everything went black.

Chapter Text

Ethan
March 2015
London

He was too slow. Benji was gone. The Bone Doctor had him. Ilsa had disappeared.

He'd failed Benji.

The phone rang. A voice. His voice. The inevitable demand. The inevitable words.

"I accept."

No hesitation. No thinking. He'd do what he had to to get Benji back.

"Yes," the voice said. "I knew you would."

He couldn't look at Will and Luther; he didn't want to see the pity in their eyes. "He wants the disk, unlocked, by midnight tonight." He didn't expect them to understand. But he was starting to. He was beginning to see all of the pieces of the puzzle, finally. He saw how Lane wanted this to end. He saw how sure Lane was that Ethan would trade his life for Benji's. But Lane had no idea how far Ethan would go for Benji. He had no fucking clue that Ethan would go to hell and back for that man. Ethan was livid that Lane had sent the fucking Bone Doctor to nab Benji and Ethan had only been able to stand by and watch. But this was the end. Ethan was done. He was getting Benji back. He was ending Lane. And he was getting the CIA off their backs, for good measure.

He knew how they were going to do it. "This is how we're going to make everything right." He'd make them see. He'd get Benji back.

Benji
March 2015
London

The drug they'd given him to subdue him at the train station was fast acting and fast to wear off. He'd come around while in the back of the SUV. He knew not much time had passed because through the SUV's tinted windows the angle of daylight hadn't changed much, and they were still in London. He recognized the streets flying by. His hands were bound behind him. He craned his neck, caught a glimpse of steely eyes in the rearview mirror.

He ran through him mental Rolodex and matched the eyes to Janik Vinter. Ethan had told Benji about him. Benji recalled that he'd been missing-presumed-dead for years. Benji also recalled his nickname. The Bone Doctor. He allowed himself ten seconds of paralyzing fear before he remembered that Ethan and Will and Luther were probably right this minute looking for him. Then he allowed himself ten seconds of chastisement to blame himself for getting captured in the first place. Then he started thinking about how to get loose.

The car stopped much too soon, in an underground parking garage. There weren't that many places in central London where a man trussed up and held at gunpoint wouldn't make eyebrows lift, but Benji saw the play immediately. The Bone D—you know what, Benji was just going to think of him as Vinter—better for his sanity—had parked next to a private elevator.

Vinter opened the door, and before Benji could register much of anything besides the enormous gun in Vinter's waistband, the man threw a black sack over his head, obscuring his vision. He then hauled Benji up and out of the vehicle, and pushed him relentlessly forward. Benji tried to not stumble on his feet, but it was hard to keep up the pace blind. Then there was a ding of a elevator and he was pushed another few feet forward.

Vinter and his boss must have occupied an entire floor of whatever building they were in, complete with private elevator. Which meant no witnesses. Nobody to help. Benji was on his own.

As the elevator rose inexorably higher, Benji decided his best course of action was to say nothing. Perhaps Vinter would let loose some information that Benji could use to pinpoint their location or glean Lane's ultimate plan. If he had to be in the lion's den, he might as well make use of the time.

Vinter was quiet, too, simply kept his hand at the small of Benji's back, pushing him out of the elevator. Benji felt the temperature change. They were somewhere well-heated. There was carpet underfoot. Benji focused on those small details, on getting enough air with each breath.

Still, by the time he'd been pushed down into a chair, the restraints snipped off, he had to concentrate on not succumbing to the feeling of claustrophobia with that cloth around his head. He wanted to fight back but his arms were instantly restrained in a new way, strapped to the chair. His legs, too. He was powerless. He couldn't breathe. And yet, a part of him was strangely calm. He believed Ethan would save him. He had to believe it. Because he wasn't going to die without telling Ethan that he still loved him.

Then the cloth was removed and Vinter's mocking, evil face was the first thing Benji saw. He tested the restraints. They held firm. He turned to see another man off the missing-presumed-dead list. And then, finally, he looked ahead, straight into the eyes of the man who had tormented Ethan for months, who had caused so much pain and so much death. He was looking into the eyes of Solomon Lane. Worse, Solomon Lane was looking back.

He looked at Benji as if he knew him. As if he could read every thought in his head, every secret of his heart. As if Benji was an open book. As he approached, Benji couldn't help his reaction. It was as if he was face to face with a viper—poisonous, deadly, unmerciful. His body reacted to Lane as primitively as it would react to a hissing snake or a stalking jaguar. He wanted to run, fast and hard in an opposite direction. But he could do nothing but stand his ground.

"Get him ready please." The words—so simple. The meaning—so devastating, as Benji saw the semtex vest, the timer, the pressure switch. He knew in an instant what it meant. Benji was to be a walking bomb, pressed into service, forced to do Lane's bidding. Because that's what Lane did. He didn't have to talk people into doing what he wanted. He only had to mold the situation in order to make every single person do it because they had no choice.

Vinter took his time strapping the vest on, securing it tightly. There was a menacing energy about him. He looked perfectly relaxed, but also watchful, like a pit pull on a chain, waiting for his master's signal to tear an intruder apart.

Lane sat back, supervising silently. When the vest was in place, Lane spoke again. "The other items can wait." Benji turned his neck, saw the earpiece and retinal computer. He was to be a bomb, as well as Lane's eyes and ears. Perhaps even voice. He wondered…was he bait? Was Ethan expected to turn up and become a victim of the bomb as well?

As if he were a mind reader, Lane said, "Of course he will. Why do you think I chose you?"

Benji pressed his mouth into a line, unwilling to give anything more away. It didn't seem to matter to Lane. He went on. "Ethan Hunt always accomplishes his missions. That's why I chose him to retrieve the disk. That's why I ensured its decryption with you. Ethan Hunt doesn't let his friends down. He will be there, with the unlocked disk. You don't have to be in doubt of that, Mr. Dunn."

Benji wanted to argue, but he happened to agree with Lane. Unless the contents of the disk were simply too dangerous to hand over to Lane. Then, Ethan might have to make some sacrifices. Benji squared his shoulders. He'd always known this could be a side effect of becoming a field agent. Dying for the greater good—there were worse ways to go.

Again, he didn't have to say anything for Lane to seemingly read his thoughts. "So noble. Ethan will come for you. And you can die together."

Benji wanted to ask Lane how he was so sure Ethan would deliver the disk. And then Ilsa walked into the room. She looked hollow-eyed, as if her long association with Lane was finally taking the luster off of her. She wouldn't meet Benji's gaze, simply leaned against a wall in the corner opposite Vinter.

"You have Ilsa to thank for that little nugget of information. She let it slip that of all of the members of his team, Ethan has a soft spot for you, my funny little friend. Some might wonder what he sees in you. But I know. I know because I was Ethan Hunt, before there was Ethan Hunt. But I was also you, Mr. Dunn. And Ms. Faust. I was all of you. I know how you think. I know how you act. And I know how people…bond…when it feels like it's just them against the rest of the world." Lane smiled, making his nonexistent chin recede even further. "The Ethan Hunts of the world like to feel like heroes. They like to find someone weaker than they are, someone they can protect, someone who can idolize them. It makes them feel as if all of their suffering and sacrifices are meaningful. That's what you are, Mr. Dunn. You're a prop. The perfect bait. The perfect mission. Ethan Hunt will give me what I want to save your life. And then Ilsa will kill both of you. A mercy, really. You won't have to watch while I take apart the world with what's on that disk."

Benji felt impotent. He knew he was merely a pawn in Lane's grand game, but to hear it like that—that he was merely propping up Ethan's ego with his blind hero worship. That's what it must have looked like from the outside. No wonder Hunley dragged him in front of the polygraph every week; it was plain to even Hunley that Benji Dunn would do anything for Ethan Hunt. And Lane was certain that Ethan would do anything for Benji, but only because it fed his own self-image. Not because Ethan actually cared.

Benji wanted to believe that what he and Ethan had whispered under the cover of night, under the literal covers of their shared bed, the endearments, the declarations of love, the sighs of pleasure, the gasps of need, had all been real. But he'd had his doubts, even before Lane had started monologuing.

It was all moot, anyway. Ethan was walking into a trap, and Benji couldn't do anything to stop it. And they'd both be dead before he could tell Ethan that it real for him, at least. Benji Dunn loved Ethan Hunt. And nothing any deranged terrorist could say would convince Benji that that didn't matter. Loving Ethan mattered. And if Benji had to die for Ethan to see it—well. So be it.

***

Eventually, Lane left, indicating with an inclined head that Ilsa should accompany him. Hours passed. They gave him nothing to eat or drink. He grew stiff sitting in the same position, with the existential stress of wearing explosives causing adrenaline to go through him at odd intervals. Vinter and the other lackey disappeared from time to time, always leaving the other behind to watch him. Once when he came back, Vinter smelled of onions. Benji wished he wasn't hungry, wasn't thirsty. Wasn't tied to a chair covered in explosives. Wasn't helpless to sit by and wait.

Finally, when it was long past dark, Lane came back, along with Ilsa, who looked profoundly unhappy. "Finish preparing him," Lane said. Vinter got up with a grunt, reached for the earpiece. His touch was surprisingly light as he dropped the lens into Benji's right eye. With a gleam of malice in his eye, he stroked one finger along the side of Benji's face. Benji couldn't help flinching at the painless but threatening touch. Vinter chuckled at getting a response.

Suddenly Lane's face was three inches from Benji's. "Listen carefully. I'm setting the timer. Ilsa will escort you to the meeting place. Do not try to flee. I can remotely detonate if I have to. When Ethan arrives, you will speak to him. You will say everything that I say to you. What happens next is up to Ethan."

Lane paused, stood up. "Do you understand?"

Benji spoke for the first time in ten hours. "Yes."

***

Benji knew that Lane could hear anything that he and Ilsa might say through the two-way earpiece, so he didn't bother engaging her in conversation as they were driven by one of the lackeys to the Tower of London. Benji saw at once Lane's aim. If (when) the bomb went off, it would inflict maximum civilian casualties and mar one of London's iconic historical sites. Benji swallowed nervously. He wasn't exactly sure how much time was left on the timer, but it wasn't a good feeling knowing these might be his last minutes on earth.

Ilsa was armed, but she seemed resigned to playing out the script as Lane had written it. It was as if Atlee's betrayal and Ethan's disinclination to run away from their problems had taken the fight out of her. Benji sympathized, even if his feelings toward her were complicated. He admired her skill as an agent, but he couldn't shake the perhaps irrational jealousy that she garnered even some of Ethan's attention.

Lane must have given her specific instructions, because she walked confidently over to an empty table. Benji felt himself move as if he was walking through water, slow, deliberate. Sweat gathered at his temples. He wondered how the oblivious people around them couldn't see that something was very, very wrong. Btu they all went about their business, ignoring the woman in the black trench coat and the man walking stiffly behind her.

When they were settled—Ilsa made sure the pressure trigger was in place, which didn't help Benji's stress level—they ordered wine from the harried server. Well, Ilsa ordered, Benji was unable to form a coherent sentence. Ilsa must have noticed his distress. She said, her voice firm, in control, "Benji. Breathe. Ethan will come. He'll get you out of this."

Benji did as she said, took in a deep breath, let it out slowly. Then another. And another. It started to calm him down. "Lane won't let us just walk out of here."

"Ethan will think of something," Ilsa replied. Maybe she was just trying to get through these last moments with some dignity. Maybe she was just trying to make Benji calm down. Or maybe she really believed it.

"Lane will probably have already guessed whatever Ethan comes up with," Benji said.

Ilsa frowned. She checked her watch. Benji didn't want to know the time. But it had to be getting close to midnight. Neither of them touched their wine. "Did you know that before we broke into the facility in Casablanca Ethan asked me to do something for him?"

Benji had no idea what she was talking about. "No."

"He asked me, if anything happened to him in the torus, to watch out for you. To keep you safe from Lane. He made me promise."

Benji struggled to reply.

"Even if Ethan Hunt was dead, he'd still find a way to protect you." Ilsa smiled a little, a bit sadly. "Besides, the three of us made a not-dying pact. Remember? And I don't think any of us wants to be the one who breaks it."

Benji wanted to say that a not-dying pact was all well and good except when someone had a fucking bomb strapped to their chest, but he didn't have the chance. Ilsa's gaze snapped up to a spot behind Benji's head.

"He's here."

Chapter Text

Benji
March 2015
London

It was strange, Benji had spent the last hours in a misery of impotence, despair, hope, anger, guilt. As soon as he heard Ilsa's words, even before Ethan came into his field of vision, Benji suddenly grew calm. He realized he'd been letting Lane win the psychological battle. It no longer mattered that Benji was a sitting duck covered in explosives. It no longer mattered that he hadn't been able to do anything to stop it. All that mattered was that Ethan, beautiful, maddening Ethan, hadn't let Lane beat him. He hadn't cut and run—not when Ilsa asked him to, and not when it meant possibly losing to Lane. And all that stuff that Benji had been mad about before—well, it was water under the proverbial bridge, wasn't it. Because even if Benji was about to die, he'd die knowing that he gave love—real, all-consuming, terrifying, exhilarating, messy, confusing, exquisite love—a chance. He loved Ethan Hunt. He couldn't be certain of anything else but that.

Ethan, his sun, his star, the center of his universe, appeared. Benji looked up at him, willed him to see. He forced his love to shine out of his eyes, so that Ethan would understand. Whatever happened, Ethan was loved. It didn't matter if Ethan loved him back. It never had.

Lane spoke, and Benji was shocked when his own voice came out sure and steady. "This is the end, Mr. Hunt."

Ethan hesitated for just a moment, just long enough for Benji to wonder if Ethan had any doubts about Benji's loyalty. Then he watched as Ethan registered the earpiece, the lens, and pushed aside the fabric of his overcoat to read the digital countdown reeling by.

He desperately wanted to go off script. He wanted to tell Ethan he was sorry, that he shouldn't give Lane the disk, that he should run far away and save himself. He wanted to tell him that he loved him, one last time. But with the numbers surely slipping away like grains of sand, he didn't dare. Instead he relayed Lane's words as faithfully as a stenographer.

"…no sudden moves." Benji swallowed, the direness of the situation causing a quaver in his voice at last.

Ethan seemed to be calculating something in his head. He looked at Ilsa, who showed him the gun, shared the plan. They weren't making it out of here alive, even if the bomb didn't go off. If Ilsa didn't kill them, one of Lane's goons would.

"No time to think, Ethan. Have a seat, please."

Benji clenched his jaw as he locked gazes with Ethan. Ethan smiled, ever so slightly, dropped a hand to his shoulder. Squeezed. It was a gesture he'd repeated so many times, since almost the very beginning, back when Benji was just a loquacious techie with a goatee and a crush on the legendary Ethan Hunt. It was exactly the right thing for Ethan to do. The touch grounded Benji. It reminded him they'd been in tough spots before and lived to tell the tale. He flashed back to a hallway in the bowels of the Kremlin, Benji's first time in the field with Ethan, Ethan's guiding hand, his touch steadying, being the rock for both of them.

Benji nodded minutely in acknowledgment. In gratitude.

Ethan sat, and then the games really began. Lane didn't seem to mind having an intermediary as he wasted no time monologuing again.

But then, something happened. Little by little, the tables started turning, and it soon became clear that Ethan had a plan. His eyes flashed with emotion as he met Lane head-on, move for move. It was verbal chess, and Ethan was starting to win.

"You like games? I have a game for you." Ethan started writing on a napkin. Benji felt his heart rate pick up. This could be a very risky gambit indeed. "I'll give you fifty million dollars to let Benji go."

Benji was speechless, and Lane was silent too, probably typing in the account number Ethan had written on the napkin. But if he'd had the power of speech, he would have cried out, "No! You can't give a terrorist fifty million dollars. It's just not done!"

It didn't matter. Ethan had already given it away, without blinking. Benji couldn't imagine that the payoff would work. But then, as Ethan started talking again, he realized in dawning horror the rest of Ethan's play.

"I am the disk. I memorized it. All 2.4 billion in numbered accounts. If that vest goes off, you get nothing." Benji involuntarily glanced down at his shroud. Surely the time would run out any second now? "Without this money, you're nothing. Without me, you're nothing." Damn, Ethan wasn't trading $50 million for Benji. He was trading himself. Trading his life for Benji's.

"Let. Benji. Go."

The wait was interminable as they all sat, waiting for Ethan's bluff to be called. And then—nothing. Time froze. The gambit had worked. Benji gasped. Ethan swallowed convulsively, the only tell that he hadn't been at all sure that his plan would work.

But the relief was short-lived, as Vinter and the others began to approach their table. Ethan had made himself into a prize, and they were all intent on getting him.

Ethan's next words shocked Benji back into action. "They come one step closer, shoot me."

Ilsa caught on immediately, thrusting her pistol into Ethan's side. The goons halted. Benji sucked in a breath. He knew Lane would hear, but he couldn't help it. "You remember I told you one day you were going to take things too far? This is me speaking by the way, it's not him."

Ethan ignored him. "The only way this ends is you and me, Lane. Face to face." Ethan leaned forward, and Benji had to remind himself Ethan was talking to Lane, not to him. "You want your money? The Bone Doctor's gonna have to beat it out of me." Ethan slammed a fist on the table, and Benji jumped. Jesus, Ethan. Benji hoped he would get a chance to tell him exactly how foolish he was being right now.

"Now let Benji go." It was an order, growled like a protective bear. Benji shivered. A second passed. Two. Three. Lane's voice came over the earpiece, white hot with anger as he spit out the code that would set Benji free.

With shaking fingers, Benji punched in the code, shed the vest, the lens, the wire. He stood. His legs were like jelly. He took a phone from Ethan's outstretched hand. Their fingers didn't even brush. It was too much, he couldn't just leave without saying… "Ethan—"

"Go." Ethan's voice was soft, but firm. "Brandt and Luther are waiting. Go."

He didn't want to leave Ethan behind, not when he'd put such a huge target on his back, but Ethan had gotten them this far—he had to trust that this is what Ethan wanted him to do. He glanced between Ilsa and the love of his life, nodded. They got this.

He had to dispose of the bomb, find Brandt and Luther, and help in any way he could to finish this once and for all. He avoided Vinter's gaze as he shouldered his way past. Every step away from Ethan hurt him like a stab to the heart, but he had to trust that Ethan could make the impossible happen, one more time.

He put distance between himself and the crowd of people, just in case Lane had an override on the bomb and could detonate it remotely even after it had been disarmed. When he reached an area with decent light, he unwrapped the package carefully. Ignoring the gunshots in the distance, he examined the wiring, and with three careful pulls, he disabled the mechanism. Now all they'd have to do was find a secure place to store the Semtex and the bloody thing wouldn't be a threat.

He wrapped the package up again, used the phone Ethan had given him to call Will.

He sounded out of breath. "Go."

"It's Benji. Where am I going?"

He heard Will and Luther's muffled conversation. "They're coming."

"We're not ready."

"Then get ready."

"Ready? Ready for what? You guys better have one hell of a plan. Ethan's out there with half a dozen guys after him. Lane's not going to let him get away—"

"Benji, stop." Will rattled off an address. "Get here as quick as you can."

Benji clicked off the phone, oriented himself, and started running. It only took him a handful of minutes to locate the address. It appeared to be an office building under construction. He approached gingerly, then felt hands grab him around the shoulders. He jumped a mile, ready to slam his elbow into his attacker.

"It's me," Will said, before he could react further.

Benji breathed out. "Jesus, don't do that."

"Sorry, but we're in a rush. Let me show you." Will led him to a lower level, where Luther was frantically assembling what looked like a Lucite lift car.

"Is that—?"

"Bulletproof. Yeah." Luther kept at his construction project. "Benji, hook up this gas line. We don't have any time to waste."

They hurriedly explained the plan. It was a trap, and Ethan was the bait. But if it worked—they'd have everything they needed.

The three of them worked a few minutes longer, then they heard the shattering of glass overhead and Will hissed, "Places." Benji shut off the lights. Even in the dark, Benji could see Ethan's form drop down through the opening, could see that he had an injured ankle or leg. He held his breath, waiting for the trap to spring.

Lane dropped down after him, and after that it was like clockwork. Brandt slid the final panel across the front of the box. Luther slammed one on top. Lane fired ineffectually at each of them in turn, but when he came face to face with Benji, he started kicking at the wall of his prison, face contorted with rage. Benji kept his cool, staring down the villain, the comfort of Ethan's presence and the bulletproof glass giving him strength.

Ilsa appeared, looking rather the worse for wear. But she stood him down, too. Of all of them, she'd had the most contact with Lane, and been the most in his power. He hoped that she was feeling some measure of satisfaction in seeing him bested for once.

"Gentlemen, this is Solomon Lane. Mr. Lane, meet the IMF."

Benji's chest swelled with pride. They hadn't given up, even when it had almost cost them everything. And they'd gotten what they came for—answers, and someone to pay for the havoc they'd caused. They were the goddamn IMF.

Ethan caught Benji's gaze, indicated with tilt of his head what Benji should do next. He turned the valve on the gas, and it seemed Lane couldn't hold his breath for as long as Ethan Hunt, because he dropped like a stone after less than a minute. Benji watched proudly as Ethan stared him down to the end.

Benji flicked on the lights. Ethan shoved over the box. His face registered some petty satisfaction at being able to hurt Lane, just a little. He glanced over at Ilsa. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Vinter is dead."

Benji stilled. Good riddance.

The five of them didn't speak as they loaded the box with it's oh-so-valuable cargo into the prepared police van. Brandt had already arranged for Hunley to meet them with a representative of MI6. Lane was the deal, but Ilsa wasn't. Benji could see that she was going to take off. A part of him wanted to wish her well, and a part of him was still struggling with trusting her, even though she'd come through when it counted twice now.

But she avoided him, and Benji focused on the tasks of cleaning up their gear, the telltale evidence of their brief occupation of this construction site. Soon, they were ready to roll. Benji climbed behind the wheel of the van, while Luther rolled his eyes as Will complained mildly of being stuck in the middle.

His knuckled turned white as he watched through the windshield as Ilsa embraced Ethan. Her hand squeezed the back of Ethan's neck in a gesture that was much too intimate for Benji's comfort. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he imagined it was something like goodbye and good luck.

Or at least, that's what he hoped they were saying.

Ethan
March 2015
London

Ethan watched Ilsa drive away. The adrenaline from the entire long, awful day was beginning to wear off. He felt his twisted ankle and the myriad cuts made by throwing himself through a plate glass wall. And there was that window he'd crashed through before, too. He'd destroyed a lot of glass tonight.

He glanced back. Three weary-looking policeman in yellow vests stared at him through the police van's windshield. He smiled. They'd all made it. He couldn't ask for a better outcome than that.

He staggered a little as a wave of exhaustion hit him. He couldn't afford to fall apart now, not when they still had to make a bargain with Hunley. The four of them couldn't go on the run, like Ilsa. It wasn't practical. He shook his head, and suddenly, someone took his arm. He shifted his weight, and saw that Benji had jumped down from the van to give him a hand. He leaned on Benji, smiling into the dear, familiar face. "Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"We gotta go." He just had to make it to the car.

"I know," Benji said. "I'll ride with you." He stripped off the uniform, and put Ethan in the passenger seat of their remaining vehicle. He got behind the wheel. Ethan didn't protest.

Will, looking much happier to be driving than sandwiched between Luther and Benji, started up the van and rolled out. Benji put the BMW in drive and followed him out of the underground garage.

"Is your seat belt buckled?" he asked when they were a few minutes into their drive to the rendezvous point.

"You're asking me that now?" Ethan said.

Benji let out a surprised laugh. Ethan's heart felt light. He'd been able to make Benji laugh.

"Ethan—"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"You don't need to thank me."

"All right. What do I need to do?"

He thought for a second. "Listen. That's all. I'm not asking for anything more."

"I already told you I would," Benji said.

"Yeah, you did."

"And it's over, right? Lane's goose is cooked."

"We got him. But that doesn't mean the Syndicate is a done deal. We don't know how many of his followers are still out there."

"Come on, Ethan. Can't we just have this, for one night?"

He sighed. "Of course. After we hand Lane over, we'll go someplace, the two of us. I have things to say."

"I'll listen," Benji said, "and, to be honest, I'll probably talk some, too. It's kind of my thing."

"I'm counting on it," Ethan said. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

Hunley was surprisingly gracious about accepting their terms and Ethan's "suggestions" for how Hunley handle the political fallout from their adventure. Ethan watched carefully as Lane was taken into MI6 custody. He wasn't at all certain that there weren't people who Lane could manipulate into letting him go, but, as Ilsa said, they'd done their part.

Brandt offered to debrief Hunley and pave the way for their return to the States. Luther hinted that the offer better be pretty awesome if it was going to tempt him out of retirement. Then he said he was going off grid and he'd come in when they had everything sorted out. Benji said little, but he took Will aside, whispering something to him that Ethan couldn't hear. Will nodded, shook Benji's hand. Hunley took his turn shaking Benji's hand, too.

"It seems you've been through quite an ordeal yourself today, Mr. Dunn. I hope you'll consider coming back to work after you've had some time to recuperate."

"I won't come back for a desk job," Benji said sternly.

Ethan was surprised. After everything he'd put Benji through, he still wanted the field?

"No desks. Agreed," Hunley said. "And you, Mr. Hunt. Will you be returning to the field as well?"

"I've been in the field for six months," Ethan said. "I might need a vacation."

"Of course. Take all the time you need."

Ethan lifted an eyebrow. "That's very generous of you, Director Hunley."

Hunley offered his hand, and Ethan shook it.

The politics and formalities aside, Brandt and Hunley went off to do their bureaucrat thing. Luther patted Ethan on the back and said, "Good work. But you aren't done." He tilted his head toward Benji.

"I know," Ethan said. "I'm working on it."

"Keep me in the loop this time," Luther ordered, and Ethan nodded.

Luther and Benji said goodbye, and then it was just the two of them. Tired and sore. Battered, physically and psychologically. Lane had been caught but it had taken its toll on them. Had it only been a week ago that Benji had walked up the steps of the Vienna Opera House, dapper in his tux? Ethan had wanted to kiss him then. He still wanted to.

Benji had dark circles under his eyes, and Ethan realized they couldn't say what they had to say to each other without sleep. "Let's go."

They drove to the nearest hotel, not posh, not seedy, and checked into two rooms under their most recent aliases. They had their luggage from Morocco, but when it came time to head to their respective rooms, Benji said, "Fuck it," and hit the button for Ethan's floor.

They took turns in the shower. When Ethan came out, Benji was under the covers of the large bed. He'd turned down the sheets on the other side. Ethan slipped underneath. He didn't touch Benji, but he relaxed knowing he was just an arm's length away.

"Goodnight, Ethan," Benji said.

"Goodnight, Benji."

Chapter Text

Ethan
March 2015
London

Ethan experienced a wave of disorientation when his eyes opened after a night of heavy sleep. He wasn't alone in the unfamiliar hotel bed. But that didn't make sense…he hadn't slept in the same bed as someone since that time in Warsaw with Benji. Before…before Lane. Before he spent six months in isolation. Before Benji had forced some issues onto the table that Ethan had been avoiding for a long time.

So maybe this was a dream. He had dreams like this, sometimes, when he was alone in Manila, Havana, one of the other cities he'd futilely searched for Lane in. He'd dream of waking up next to Benji, waking him up with kisses. Of Benji grumbling about being woken up, until the grumbles turned to moans as Ethan kissed his way down Benji's chest, over his hips, his mouth finally coming into contact with Benji's—

But this wasn't a dream. Benji was real. He was curled on his side facing Ethan, shadows under his closed eyes, his brow furrowed in sleep as if he was in pain.

Ethan wanted to take that pain away. He leaned forward, gently pressing a kiss to the divot between Benji's eyebrows. When Benji didn't react, he kissed each eyebrow in turn, then the corner of Benji's eye where it crinkled when he smiled. That crinkle always made Ethan's stomach flip flop a little, because when Benji smiled at Ethan, he felt sixteen again. Benji moved slightly. Ethan kissed his cheekbones, one after another, and the edge of his beard where the ginger bristles met the smooth skin of his cheek. He kissed the corner of Benji's mouth, pulled back. Benji's eyes were heavy lidded but open. Ethan started to apologize, but Benji just reached for him, put an arm around his waist and brought their mouths together.

Yes. Ethan had missed this so much, the feeling of rightness, the feeling of home that he got when kissing Benji Dunn. Benji was kissing him, was letting Ethan kiss him back. Ethan poured everything into this kiss, all of his regrets, all of his promises, all of his love. He only hoped that Benji would understand.

They drank each other in, long, slow, deep kisses that had no end and no beginning. Ethan was hard with a desperate, aching want, but he didn't dare bring himself closer, though he longed to plaster himself to Benji's side and never leave. Benji's arm was firm around his waist, his mouth hot and wet on Ethan's. Benji's tongue was in Ethan's mouth and the sweetness of it pierced Ethan like a switchblade into soft flesh. He groaned and felt something perilously close to tears gathering behind his eyes.

With effort, he pulled away. Benji's eyes were closed, his lips were red. He opened his eyes slowly, like he was drunk, or half asleep. Maybe he was drunk with lust, like Ethan was. Ethan reminded himself that he had things to say, and he couldn't say them with kisses, as much as he might want to.

"Hey," he said, softly, as if he might startle Benji away.

"Hey," Benji said, equally softly.

"How are you feeling?"

Benji yawned in response, stretching his arms over his head. Ethan couldn't help noticing the way his t-shirt rode up over his belly, or the unmistakable bulge of Benji's morning erection under the thin sheets.

"I feel…tired. It was a hell of a day."

"That is was," Ethan agreed. "You made it through."

"Thanks to you," Benji said. "For a few minutes there, I thought me and half the Tower of London were going to be vaporized."

Ethan shivered, even though he wasn't cold. "I would never let that happen."

Benji turned back on his side, his blue eyes locking onto Ethan's. "I know."

Ethan smiled a little at Benji's faith. He still had it. That seemed like a good sign. He was about to get serious again when Benji sat up suddenly. "I need coffee. And a danish. Maybe two. Or bacon. I'm starving."

"We'll get coffee. Gallons of it. And a dozen danish. But first—I have to say some things. Please. I'm dying here."

"Well, we can't have that," Benji said. "The not-dying pact is still in effect as far as I know."

"So it is." Ethan took a deep breath. "First, I have to ask you, are you okay, really? Lane and his men—they didn't hurt you, did they?"

"I'm fine. They kept me handcuffed to a chair all day with Semtex strapped to me. It wasn't comfortable, but they didn't do anything more than that."

Ethan was relieved, though he felt Benji wasn't telling him everything. "When I saw you were gone, and that Vinter had you—I was…" Ethan trailed off, because he didn't quite know how to put into words the depth of terror, of anger, he had experienced. He'd only felt that way once before in his life. "Do you remember Davian?"

Benji's recoiled slightly at the name. "Of course."

"When Davian had Julia…that's the only other time I'd felt like that."

"Oh." Benji looked pale. Ethan reached out, touched is hand. It felt cold.

"You sure you're okay?"

Benji nodded, but still looked a bit grey. "Er—I can't believe you gave him 50 million dollars, Ethan. What were you thinking?"

"I'd have given him the entire 2.4 billion if it got you out of there."

This time Benji didn't respond at all. Ethan pressed. "You would tell me, right?"

"Uh, I'd tell you what?"

"If they hurt you?"

Benji swallowed. "They didn't hurt me, I swear. But Lane—he said some things. He's a clever bastard."

"What did he say?"

"Does it matter?"

"It matters if he hurt you. Even if it was only with words."

"He…it's like he got in my head. And your head. He has this ability to think like his opponent. He's like a mental chameleon."

"I know."

"But you—you beat him at his own game, didn't you?" Benji's color had returned a bit, his voice was stronger, perhaps remembering that whatever Lane had said during battle, he had lost the war.

"What did he say to you?"

"It doesn't matter," Benji said, "because he was wrong. He doesn't know you, he only thinks he does. He doesn't know me, either. He doesn't know us, because he only understands fear. He thought you were some egomaniacal knight coming to save a captured pawn to fulfill your own delusions of grandeur. He thought I was a weakest link in the chain."

"You're not weak, Benji. You make all of us stronger."

"Lane doesn't see that we're motivated by something more than ego or duty or money or revenge. You were always going to choose fighting Lane over running away with Ilsa because you love humanity. You fight for your team and never let us down because you love us. You saved me, you've saved me so many times, Ethan, and don't think I don't know it, because you love me, too. I know that now."

Ethan listened to Benji and he felt like his his heart was shedding an old, broken layer, to reveal a new, intact one. "Every minute of every day that I was out there chasing the phantom that turned out to be Lane was a minute that I wished I was with you. I know it must have felt like I left you to run off and save the day on my own, but don't you see? You've never come second to the job. You've always been first. Because we couldn't be together in a world where the Syndicate was running unchecked. You would never have been safe. What happened yesterday would have been a threat every single day. At least behind a desk at the CIA I could be reasonably sure you were protected."

"I get it. I'm not saying I'm happy about it, but I get why you did it. And maybe next time let's talk about it before you disappear on me, okay?"

Ethan nodded. He wanted to promise Benji that it would never happen again, but he couldn't promise that. Who knew what evils lurked in their future? "Thank you for understanding," he said finally, because even that was a relief.

Benji cocked his head. "Besides, what you're saying is—you went on the run and saved the world…for me?"

"For us. Because I want there to be an us so badly, Benji. I need there to be an us. Please tell me we can be an us again."

"I'm not sure the grammar works but—" Benji grinned. "Us it is. Us we are. Whatever."

Ethan grinned back, wide and happy. "Really?"

"Really."

Ethan felt the laugh bubble out of him. "God, I love you so much."

Benji mouth wobbled out of its smile. "I—I love you, too. All I could think about with that Semtex strapped to me was that I loved you and I might be the cause of your breaking the not-dying pact again, and I just wanted to tell you one more time, but I couldn't, and I wanted you to know so badly—" he broke off and wiped hastily at the corners of his eyes.

Ethan felt Benji's love like a tattoo on his heart, embedded in every cell of his body. "Benji. I always knew."

Benji
March 2015
London

This was bloody embarrassing. He'd finally come to his senses and realized just how much Ethan Hunt loved him, and all he wanted to do was have a good cry. What was the point of having a man as sexy and handsome as Ethan Hunt in your bed if all you did was blubber all over him? Benji wiped away the tears that were defiantly leaking out of his eyes, and tried to smile at Ethan, who, to be fair, was looking a bit misty-eyed himself.

"Well good," he said. "Because I do. I love you." It was the sort of thing that Benji wanted to say while they had the opportunity to say it.

"I—" Ethan cleared his throat. "I have to tell you something else."

Benji felt his cautious optimism shrivel slightly. "Oh?"

"It's about Julia."

Benji had almost convinced himself that he didn't care about the whole Ethan not telling him Julia was alive thing. In the big scheme of things, it wasn't a huge deal, considering Ethan no doubt had very good security reasons for not telling him. But he still needed closure. Every time Ethan said her name Benji's stomach cramped uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry that not telling you about her hurt you so badly. In hindsight, I could have handled the entire situation differently. I apologize."

"Apology accepted," Benji said. Nothing more needed to be said.

"Thank you. And I want you to know that, yeah, I'm not exactly fine with what happened between her and me, and maybe that's part of why I haven't talked about her much with you. But that's on me. It has nothing to do with her. Or with you. Who knows, maybe if Hunley comes through and we can all go home I'll actually start talking about this in therapy."

Benji felt his eyebrows rise. He tried to picture Ethan on a gray couch, trying to explain to some poor IMF-approved shrink why he'd had to fake his wife's death and how that made him feel. It was worth a try, anyhow.

"But I also want you to know that even though, yeah, I do love Julia, I'm not—I'm not in love with her any more. We ended our marriage for a lot of reasons, and I'd like to talk with you about some of them some day. But I promise you, when I kissed you for the first time, it had been a very long time since I'd been in love with anyone but you."

"Oh, God." Benji's heart started to race and suddenly he felt lightheaded. He'd hoped that Ethan was over her, but this was so much more than he'd ever dreamed. Ethan had been in love with him, way back then, from before the first time they kissed. The knowledge swept over him like wave, nearly drowning him. It was hard to breathe. Suddenly, Ethan's hand was on his back, rubbing circles.

"It's okay, breathe, you're okay," Ethan was saying. Benji tried to focus on the words, focus on his touch, tried to pull in air. Was he having a panic attack?

"It's okay," Ethan said again. "I'm here."

Slowly, Benji felt like his breaths were coming not through a layer of foam. He caught his breath, his head stopped spinning.

"You need to eat," Ethan said. "I'll go get us breakfast."

"No!" Benji practically growled the word. "Together."

"Okay. Yeah. Okay," Ethan said softly. "We'll go together."

Ethan pulled Benji out of bed, and pushed him into the bathroom, turning on the hot water in the shower. "You need me to stay?"

"No, I'll be all right, give me three minutes." Ethan nodded, closed the door behind him.

Benji felt drained, but happy, too. He rinsed off, went out to get some clothes. Ethan was dressed, went in to use the bathroom while Benji dressed. Benji was wondering why exactly he'd had a panic attack when Ethan told him that he wasn't in love with Julia, only with Benji. That he'd loved Benji long before they'd even kissed. Maybe it was because Benji had never thought such a thing could be possible—he'd always assumed, even when he thought Julia was dead, that Ethan's heart would always belong to her, in a way. That Benji was only borrowing it for a time, only had a piece of it. It's why he'd thought he'd had to end things with Ethan, because it had started to hurt too much that he'd only ever have a portion of Ethan's love. And it turned out that all this time, he'd had everything he'd ever wanted. More.

Ethan came back to the room, looking hale and handsome. "What?"

"I'm sorry about the panicking thing, and crying and being needy and all that."

"It's okay." Ethan smiled, walked over and grabbed Benji's hand, threading their fingers together. Maybe he needed to be close right now, too.

"It's just sinking in how close we both came to…breaking that pact." Saying that was easier than saying the word dying. Lord knew it was only too real a possibility in their line of work, but Benji wasn't prepared to deal with the fact he could lose Ethan in any random moment just yet. "I was so afraid that you'd never know how much I—how much you're loved. But you do. So it's all good."

"Well, I won't lie and say it isn't nice to hear," Ethan murmured, and kissed the back of Benji's hand.

"And I think therapy's a good idea, for both of us. Not both of us together, you know, but, er, individually—"

"Together might not be a bad idea, at that. Who knows, if we tell the IMF we're together, they might want us to, anyway."

"Are we going to tell them?"

"If we decide that it's safer that way, then yes, I think we should. You aren't planning to break up with me again, are you?"

Benji felt Ethan's tight grip on his hand belie the casual way he said the words. "No, Ethan. I want to make this work."

"Good. Because I've been miserable since Vienna and I wasn't doing that great before Vienna, to tell you truth. But now that Lane's in custody I'm starting to feel like we can get things back to normal."

"Normal? What's normal for us?"

"Oh, thwarting terrorists by day, Thai food and touching at night."

"Nice alliteration."

"Thanks."

"Whatever normal is, or isn't, I want it, with you." He kissed Ethan square on the mouth to seal the deal. Ethan kissed him back, and Benji forgot for a minute how hungry he was, how tired. He just wanted to sink into Ethan's embrace and never leave.

"All right, let's get breakfast before we pass out," Ethan said. "You're going to need your strength later."

"For what?"

"For all the things I'm going to do to you when we get back to this room."

"Ah, in that case, you'll need to fuel up as well for all the things I'm going to do to you."

"Is it a competition now?" Ethan laughed.

"No, it's a promise." Julia had been Ethan's wife, but Benji was his future. He'd once thought it was impossible, but sometimes the impossible happened. Especially when Ethan Hunt was around.

Chapter Text

Two years later.

Ethan
March 2017
Belfast

"I am the storm."

The messenger handed over the package and left. Ethan glanced out the doorway out of habit, even though he didn't expect anyone to be lingering on this god-awful rain night. He smiled a little as he went back up the stairs. Pass phrases and secret codes. Old-school spycraft. Benji got a kick out of that shit. Ethan had, too, long ago. Now it just made him miss Benji, who was on assignment somewhere in the Middle East. Ethan had been in Ireland for a week on his own. It had rained the entire time.

Ethan thought about their apartment in D.C. It was cozy and even though they weren't there much, it had started to feel like home. At least he no longer had to stay in a hotel when he was in D.C. Hunley had proven to be a decent Secretary. He trusted Ethan, that much was clear, but Ethan was starting to wonder if he wasn't losing it a little. If the years of constant stress weren't getting to him. If he and Benji weren't tempting fate a little bit every time they accepted their new missions.

Hunley didn't care that they were involved on a personal level. He hadn't made them sign anything or commit to couples counseling. But they went anyway, when they had a chance. It helped. It helped Ethan communicate the things that he thought were self-evident, that Benji actually seemed to need to hear out loud. Things like the fact that Ethan saw Benji as an equal, as his partner in all things. Ethan had thought that was obvious, but when he'd said it in therapy, Benji had actually started crying. Ethan hated to see Benji cry, but he'd gotten used to the fact that Benji did it when he was feeling things deeply, and since he apparently loved Ethan very deeply (thank god), tears were a good sign.

He talked about Julia sometimes in those sessions, but more often he talked about her when he was on his own with the therapist. A few weeks ago they'd been talking about the wedding, his and Julia's, how it had been spontaneous and rushed and witnessed by strangers. He'd thought it romantic at the time. But it hadn't felt real, somehow. It hadn't matched the importance of the step they were taking. He'd always felt a little bit guilty about that, about taking the chance to have a big fancy wedding away from her. He'd taken so many things from her and he felt guilty about them all.

He wanted to do it differently the next time. Not that he and Benji had ever talked about marriage. But Ethan was, deep down, traditional. He wanted the ceremony, he wanted the commitment. He got a goofy smile on his face whenever he imagined being able to call Benji his husband. And this time he wanted their friends to be there. Family-wise, they didn't have much left. Benji had more than he did, but Ethan had never met them. It didn't seem right to impose himself on Benji's family when they had no idea what Benji actually did.

He'd gone from that therapist appointment to a jewelry store on M Street and stared at the rings until they were blurry. He suddenly spotted one—a simple gold band. His and Julia's wedding rings had been platinum. But his father's wedding ring had been gold, and Ethan had always liked the look of it. He thought this ring would suit Benji down to the ground. He'd had them hold it for him, then went to his bank and got out cash. He had some notion that even though he trusted Benji implicitly, he didn't want him accidentally seeing the purchase on a credit card bill and asking questions.

The ring was at that moment in a ring box inside Ethan's second best pair of hiking boots—the right boot, to be specific—in their closet at home in D.C. Ever since he bought it, he'd been having strange dreams. The one he'd been having right before the messenger knocked on his door was the strangest. Julia and him had been repeating their wedding vows. Lane was the officiant, his snakelike voice as sinister as ever. Lane in the dream had said, "You should have killed me." He was right. Ethan regretted not ending the monster when he'd had the chance. But he'd been trying to play by the book for once, to serve Lane up as a way to get the IMF reinstated. It had worked, but Ethan feared the cost was greater than he'd ever imagined.

But why was he dreaming about Julia now? She was fine, last he heard. It had been a while, actually, since she'd sent out one of her messages, but no news was general good news, and she had never once sent an SOS. It had been seven years since Croatia, and perhaps six years since he'd last laid eyes on her in person. He had no reason to dream about her now, unless it was because…he needed her blessing, maybe, before he asked Benji to marry him?

He watched the mission briefing with one corner of his mind occupied with this question. Yes, Lane's followers were reorganizing. Yes, this John Lark character posed a real threat. Yes, man-portable nuclear weapons were bad news. But what was stopping him from calling Benji at the earliest opportunity and simply telling him that he wanted to get married? Why was something so simple, something that Ethan wanted so much, suddenly so impossible?

He closed the book, smoke wafting around him. He accepted this mission. He'd get Benji on his team. And he'd ask his boyfriend of over three years (if you didn't count the week they were broken up) to marry him. No big deal. Ethan had done far crazier stuff in his life. Climbing the Burj Khalifa came to mind. Taking off clinging to the side of a giant airplane was another example. This wasn't even the first time he'd be proposing.

Ah, that was it. He'd done it before and it hadn't worked out so well. But this was different, as Ethan kept insisting to himself. This wasn't him desperate to cling to some sense of normalcy and propose to a woman he'd only known for a few months. This was Benji. His best friend, his lover, his partner. The person he felt closest to in the whole world, the one who made all the craziness worth it. The one he needed to come home to every night, and the one he wanted to grow old with.

Ethan was a bit surprised that he'd made it to the age of fifty two, to be honest. Life expectancy in his line of work was not that high. But he had a reason to take care of himself, and to think about quitting while he was still ahead. Growing old with Benji didn't seem like such a terrifyingly boring prospect. They could talk about it, decide if they wanted to stay in the game. Ethan could see Benji tinkering on new inventions, on new programs, that would help the next batch of field agents do their jobs even better. Maybe they could move somewhere with more space with a workshop for Benji.

And what about him? What would he do if he left the field? Training was out. He'd learned the hard way that he got too invested in his trainees. Analysis was almost as bad—it would be hard for him to see new intelligence coming in and not want to get out there and chase down the bad guys himself. But he couldn't run forever. Just because he hadn't slowed down yet didn't mean he didn't see the brake lights in the near future.

Maybe they could get a place big enough for a garden. Ethan had grown up on a farm, after all. Or he could get around to doing some of the things he'd always wanted to try and never had the time for. He'd always wanted to learn to fly a helicopter, for instance. That might keep him busy for a while.

He picked up the phone he used for communicating with Benji, powered it on. There was a message waiting.

Boring as hell in Riyadh. Miss you.

Ethan thought for a second, typed out a response. Miss you too. Want to bail and meet up?

The phone buzzed while he was running a search on arms dealers who might traffic in stolen plutonium.

Meet up? Work or pleasure?

Little of both. It usually was, with them.

Where?

Ethan had narrowed the list down to two likely dealers, one in Berlin, the other in Munich.

Germany. Tomorrow.

I'll be there.

Ethan's fingers hovered over the keyboard. There was no reason for their messages to be so terse, except for their natural suspicion toward anything that could be traced or hacked. But Benji was on top of security. He could type out a sonnet, or a love letter, or a sext, and it would probably just stay between them.

In the end, he did none of those things. He typed out 143, which was the pager code for I love you, back when pagers were a thing. Benji had told him about it, and they used it from time to time. Ethan knew when Benji did it it was more out of a sense of irony than anything else. But Ethan liked the simplicity of sending three numbers that represented a phrase that Ethan wanted Benji to hear from him every day, even when it wasn't practical to literally tell him himself.

Guess he still liked secret codes a little bit after all.

***

Benji
March 2017
Berlin

Benji watched Ethan dress in his cheap suit. The material was designed to scream mid-level gangster, but it still hugged his frame like a poem. Ethan wasn't able to wear anything without looking powerfully beautiful, at least to Benji's eyes.

He couldn't shake a feeling of unease about this meeting. He didn't trust the man they were buying from, and the fact they were trying to purchase weapons-grade plutonium piled the pressure on a bit. But there was something else—Ethan had been acting a little strangely since they'd met up in Berlin over a week ago. Most of the time it seemed like business as usual, but then sometimes Benji would catch him staring pensively into space, or rubbing his hands together oddly. It was the third or fourth time he noticed him doing it that he realized that Ethan was rubbing the fourth finger of his left hand—his ring finger. The finger where he'd once worn a wedding ring when he'd been married to Julia.

It didn't necessarily mean anything, Benji knew. But Ethan definitely seemed preoccupied. Even though they'd worked through a lot of this over the last couple of years, thanks to the therapy that Benji had been surprised Ethan was actually proactive about, there was still a part of Benji that was the tiniest bit insecure when it came to Ethan and his ex-wife.

Benji reminded himself he had no reason to be jealous or insecure. He and Ethan had built their relationship into something strong and resilient over the last two years. They'd gone on missions, both together and apart, and always came through the other side, usually spending their downtime playing video games and making love in their D.C. apartment. There had been more romantic moments, as well. The time they'd been in Paris and they'd taken the lift to the top of the Eiffel Tower, just like all the other tourists, kissing in the Parisian twilight with the City of Light spread out before them like a carpet of twinkly diamonds. Once they'd been in Cairo and Ethan had delayed their departure to take a night drive out to the Great Pyramid, because Benji had offhandedly said he'd never seen it and always wanted to.

They were happy. Which should have made Benji calm down. But instead, he felt more anxious than ever, with Ethan behaving as if his mind was somewhere else, and this all-important mission about to go down. He tied his own ugly tie, grabbed the Beryllium testing kit, and wrapped his arms around Ethan before they went out into the night.

"Hey. Is everything okay?"

Ethan laughed. "Yeah, of course."

"You just seem, I don't know, preoccupied."

"I'm fine. Just thinking about the mission."

"Okay." He wasn't sure he entirely believed Ethan, but he felt better when Ethan kissed him, familiar but no less exciting than their first kisses, so long ago now. "I love you, Ethan."

"I love you, too," Ethan said, low and intimate against Benji's ear. Benji shivered. He wished they didn't have to go meet a nefarious criminal right now.

"I suppose we should go," he said regretfully.

Ethan chuckled. "Yeah. Hold that thought."

"I will."

***

Benji
March 2017
Paris

Benji paced the safe house floor. "They should have been in contact by now." He and Luther had flown into Paris with orders to prepare the safe house for Ethan and some CIA meathead in case they needed backup to detain the man known as John Lark. He hadn't heard from Ethan in hours, since he'd texted him from an airplane about to do a HALO jump onto the roof of the Grand Palais.

Luther was hunched over a laptop screen. He looked tired. Benji was a little worried about him; he'd barely slept since Berlin. "They'll be back soon."

"How do you know?"

"I'm tracking Ethan."

"Does he know that?"

Luther didn't bother to answer.

Ethan had been tenser than ever after the botched Berlin deal. Benji had told him privately that he thought he'd made the right call, but Ethan had seemed unsettled nonetheless. Not just about losing the plutonium. There was something else and Benji still hadn't figured out what it was.

When Ethan arrived twenty minutes later, he was alone.

"Where's the CIA guy?" Luther asked.

"He has his own digs, apparently." Ethan looked tired, and was that blood on his cuffs?

"You all right?" Benji knew that question was always relative. Ethan nodded, though Benji noticed he held himself fairly stiffly. "What's going on?"

"Lark, or the man posing as Lark, is dead. Ilsa shot him."

"Ilsa—what—Ilsa, Ilsa?" Benji hadn't thought about her in a while. She'd seemingly dropped off the face of the earth after London two years ago. Which was just fine by him. He'd never quite gotten over her easy camaraderie with Ethan, no matter how hard he tried.

"Ilsa, Ilsa," Ethan confirmed. "She's working on something and she won't tell me what it is. Just that I'm in over my head."

"What else is new?" Luther asked laconically.

"I posed as Lark to make the meeting with the White Widow. I won her trust. She thinks I'm a dangerous terrorist who wants the plutonium for myself. She's brokering a deal for the plutonium, and the sellers are asking for something very specific in exchange." Ethan set a case down on the table next to Luther. "Here's their down payment."

Luther opened the case, whistled. "One down, two to go."

"What do they want?"

"They want—" Ethan paused, scrubbed his hand over his face, looked at Benji a little sadly. "They want Solomon Lane."

"Pardon?" Benji couldn't have heard that right.

"He's being transported into Paris tomorrow. The Apostles, whoever they are, want Lark to break Lane out and turned over to them."

"What? Why?"

"It doesn't matter. All that matters is if we want the plutonium, we have to get our hands on Lane. And the way the White Widow's people want to do it is by massacring a bunch of cops."

"Naturally," Benji said offhandedly. "Wait, you're not saying we're actually going to break Lane out, are you?"

Ethan was silent. Benji got a very bad feeling. "Ethan—tell me that's not what we're going to do."

"Benji, I'm sorry. If there was another way—"

"There must be another way!" Benji cried. "You know what that man is capable of. You know what he did to—"

"I know. Benji, I know."

Benji's shoulders sagged. Of course Ethan knew what Lane was capable of. He'd witnessed much of it first hand.

"But the Apostles are continuing in his stead. They're killing innocent people by the hundreds every time they strike. We have to stop them."

Benji was silent. Ethan looked miserable. He knew that potentially setting Lane free was anathema to everything Ethan believed in. He knew that Ethan would hate having to put Benji in contact with a man who had kidnapped and nearly murdered him. He knew that Ethan would do it anyway, because it was the only way to accomplish the mission. And Benji would back him up, just like he always did.

"We'll have contingencies in place, of course," Benji said. Ethan looked up sharply. Benji tried a tentative smile. If anyone could break Lane out and turn him over to terrorists and then twist that around to catch both Lane and the terrorists, Ethan Hunt could.

"Tracking," Luther said.

"Tracking, masks, voice, everything we have, we'll use. Full court press. And we're not fucking killing a bunch of French cops in the process. I've already started formulating a plan. Think we can get diving equipment by six a.m.?"

"Done," Luther said. He started typing on his keyboard.

"What about the CIA guy?"

"He'll do what I say," Ethan said, "if he wants the plutonium. That's all he cares about."

"And what about Ilsa?" Benji couldn't forget that she'd appeared on the scene.

"I'm not sure what she's after, but she can take care of herself."

"Yeah, but can we survive her?" Benji grumbled. "Lest you forget Casablanca."

Ethan just rolled his eyes. "Don't worry about Ilsa. Yet." He changed his tone and threw Benji a charming smile that instantly set off his alarm bells. "You know how to scuba dive, right?"

Chapter Text

Benji
March 2017
Paris

This was the worst mission ever. It wasn't just that Ethan was being weird and they had to deal with an over-developed Clark Gable wannabe named Walker. It wasn't that between Ilsa and the White Widow, Benji's jealous streak was getting a healthy workout, or that as usual they were having to think five steps ahead just to keep the CIA out of their hair. It was mostly because of Lane. Lane, who was too valuable to kill, too evil to let live. Lane, who somehow had manipulated Ethan into breaking him out of prison while he was in said prison.

Under water, Benji had forced himself to follow through on Ethan's plan, thrusting the oxygen mask into Lane's mouth to allow him to breathe. It would have been so easy to let him drown, to end him, to cut that thread decisively. But that wasn't the plan, and Benji knew it wasn't always a good idea to make decisions based on emotion.

That's why it had been so tense when they'd happened upon the policewoman en route to the extraction point. It had been a war of pragmatism over emotion. Ethan couldn't let go of his emotions enough to kill the policewoman, and he saved her at the expense of four criminals' lives. Benji had been a bit stunned to watch Ethan's quick work as he pulled the trigger over and over with deadly accuracy. It had been the right thing to do, and also a dangerous thing to do. But Benji found he couldn't help loving Ethan more for his need to do the right thing whenever possible. It put him in contrast to Walker, who, if he'd been in Ethan's shoes, wouldn't have hesitated to dispatch the policewoman and take off, Benji was sure of it.

Still, when they'd gotten through the insanity that was getting Lane to a relatively secure location under the streets of Paris, it was with no small relish that Benji plunged the needle into Lane's neck. Okay, he was being petty, but it felt good to take out a small fraction of his anger and fear on the one person who deserved it the most.

Still, he should probably have kept his mouth shut instead of bringing up the old news of Lane's kidnapping him and strapping him into an explosive vest. Yes, it was a sore spot, but it wasn't really relevant. Lane's response had chilled him.

"Consider it unfinished business, my funny little friend."

Ethan had immediately broken in with, "Luther." Benji knew it was an effort to get Lane's attentions off of him. But it was just as creepy when Lane started in on Ethan.

"You see the end as clearly as I do, Ethan." He probably did, that was the scary thing. Lane and Ethan were always two sides of a coin. But he sensed Ethan's unease, saw the tightening in his jaw, in his shoulders as Lane went on, "You should have killed me, Ethan. The end you've always feared is coming…and the blood will be on your hands. The fallout of all your good intentions."

But Benji believed in Ethan's ability to rise above Lane's mind games and focus on what really mattered. They'd get to London, they'd get the plutonium. They'd put Lane back in a box, preferably a pine one, if Benji had any say in it. Then he could finally ask Ethan what had been weighing on his mind. And hopefully they could survive the answer.

Ethan
March 2017
London

This was the worst mission ever. Not only had he had to hurt Ilsa, someone he cared about and was apparently joining a long list of people he'd tried and failed to protect over the years, but dealing with Walker was such a fucking pain in the ass. But the worst part wasn't the CIA or the creepily-intense White Widow or trying to keep his eye on the ball when it came to the missing plutonium. The worst part was Lane, and the fact that Ethan had had to force Benji into contact with him. Lane's ability to sneak inside Ethan's very dreams was disconcerting. The way he looked at Ethan knowingly, as if he was very well aware of every one of Ethan's private feelings, his fears. It was as if Ethan, who'd always been a closed book to most people, both of out design and an innate desire for privacy, was easy for Lane to read.

The scariest part was that Lane could read Ethan, but he'd apparently chosen Benji to goad, to taunt. When Lane said he and Benji had unfinished business, Ethan had no doubt that Lane would jump at an opportunity to make Benji pay for escaping his dastardly plan two years ago. Ethan, above all else, would do anything he could to stop that from happening. It was just too close for comfort, this game they were playing, keeping Lane close in order to stop him from carrying out any of his plans.

Lane represented a world where no matter what Ethan did, no matter his good intentions, he'd always fail to protect the people he loved most. Right now, that meant that Lane was a threat to Benji, and Ethan was the one who was throwing them together. If anything happened to Benji, it would surely be 100% Ethan's fault.

And Lane knew it.

***

Getting the call from Hunley had almost been a relief. To hear that Walker was trying to frame him brought everything into focus. Walker must be Lark—Lark was even an anagram of part of Walker's name. And if Lark was Walker, not only did he have one enemy within arm's reach, he had two. He just had to figure out a way to keep them there. He and Hunley hatched the plan together, during furtive phone calls while the others were sleeping.

Sleep. Ethan hadn't been getting much of that lately, and what he did continued to be peppered with flashes of Julia, of Lane. Once he'd dreamed of Jack. But Benji wasn't in these dreams. It was as if his brain wouldn't let him bring Benji into whatever was roiling around in Ethan's subconscious.

But there was no time for dream analysis. They had a play to put on, for an audience of one. In order to catch Lark, Luther, Benji, even Lane himself, would all have to play a role. It went off beautifully, until the CIA men that Erika Sloane sent to bring them all in turned out to have Lark loyalists in their midst and suddenly Lane was in the wind, Hunley was down, and Lark was on the run.

He had one chance to stop Lark before he could activate the next phase of his deranged plan. His legs flew across the rooftops of London; his lungs burned. He landed heavily not one, but twice, feeling the twinges in his knees, his ankles. Finally, he caught up and there he was, hanging from the floor of a steel elevator car, within point blank range of John Lark's gun. He glanced at the floor, receding quickly underneath him. He could jump, but he'd still be an easy target. Lark's face twisted with frustration.

"He still has plans for you," Lark said. He crouched down, placing a small piece of paper on the floor of the elevator. Ethan almost lost his grip in shock when he took in the face on the paper. Julia. No. This couldn't be happening. Julia was safe. Wasn't she?

He pushed himself to let go of the elevator car, climb his way to the rooftop, where he watched, his stomach plummeting, as Lark and Lane flew off, leaving him alone.

He didn't know what it meant, only that Lane was making this personal. Actually, Lane had been making this personal since he'd ordered Benji to be taken at the train station two years ago. He had absolutely no fucking intention of giving in to Lark's demands that he turn himself in and watch the world implode. That was not happening. Even if Lark thought a gambit like that might work with Ethan, he knew that Lane would know that Ethan would never acquiesce. There was no way out of this but through.

"Ethan? Ethan, do you copy? What's happening?" Benji's voice came over the comm.

He didn't want to tell them that he'd lost both of them, but he knew they'd see it on the monitor anyway. "They're gone. Lane and Walker—Lark, whatever. In a chopper heading north."

"Okay, okay. I'll call Sloane, get her to intercept it—"

"No, the CIA's been infiltrated. We can't trust anyone."

"So what do we do?"

"Go back to the safe house. I'll meet you." Ethan didn't know exactly what Lark and Lane had in mind, but he knew that whatever it was, they'd want him there for the end. They'd make sure of it. And Ethan had no intention of letting Julia down, not again. He wouldn't let that plutonium explode. He wouldn't let Benji be part of Lane's twisted plan for revenge. He'd end this, even if it was the last thing he did.

***

The safe house was quiet when Ethan limped back. He grabbed some instant ice packs, cracking them open and sinking down onto a chair. He covered his ankles, his knees with the ice; he needed to be fighting fit for whatever came next.

He closed his eyes, then tensed when he heard someone walk up behind him, then relaxed when he realized who it was. He opened his eyes. Ilsa stood next to his chair. He nodded at the empty industrial metal chair opposite him and she sank into it, her face a mask of tension.

"I guess I owe you for saving my life. Again."

"You don't owe me anything," Ilsa said. "I'm just sorry we're never quite on the same side; then maybe we wouldn't have to nearly kill each other before we save each other."

Ethan was quiet. He'd been thinking about Lane, and Lark, and Julia the entire way here. He knew that whatever plans they had for the plutonium, based on what Luther had told him he'd learned from the plans they'd gotten off of Delbruck's phone, it wasn't good. It wasn't going to be easy to stop a detonation. It might even be impossible. And he didn't want his friends anywhere near it if it should happen. The problem was, he didn't know if he could stop it alone.

"Do you think, maybe, we could be on the same side?" he asked tiredly. "Just for a little while?"

Ilsa didn't respond at first. Ethan wanted to close his eyes again, to wake up when this was all over. Her voice, steely, determined, resigned, made his heart twist. "The same side." She knew what the odds were of them coming back from this mission alive, but she was doing it anyway.

Ethan didn't deserve the team he had, but he knew they weren't doing it for him. They are doing it because it's what they did. Because none of them wanted Lane to win, either. They each had their reasons. Ethan was just lucky to have them on his side.

"So, where are we going?" Ilsa said, her voice no longer sad, but brisk.

***

Ethan had changed clothes and taken a painkiller when Benji found him, still dressed in his Solomon Lane outfit to talk over what gear they'd need to bring to Kashmir.

"So we need the bomb stuff, obviously, but if we can't find a way to interrupt the countdown fail safe, I don't know what good it will do, honestly—"

"Benji, you'll figure it out. I know you will."

Benji gave him a lopsided smile. "I'll keep at it." He glanced back down at his tablet.

Ethan thought about the ring he'd bought, and how the time they had left was never guaranteed. The time they had left might be very short, indeed. He thought about Julia—where was she? Had they taken her? Had they killed her already? Was it all a bluff, and she was happily living out her life in some quiet town?

Ethan had to try. "Benji, I have to tell you something."

Benji looked up and Ethan felt his heart stutter. The man he loved looked worried. He looked older than a few months ago. This life was hard on them. And Ethan was asking him to possibly sign up for a suicide mission. He wished, he wished desperately, that they could have more time. But if it wasn't possible, then he wanted Benji to at least survive, to carry on, to keep making the world a better place with his smile and his bravery and his brilliant mind and his kind heart.

"What is it? You're scaring me, Ethan," Benji said.

"I don't know if you should come to Kashmir."

"What?"

"Maybe you should stay on point here. Ilsa's already on board, so we won't be short handed—"

"Ethan, stop talking." Benji set down the tablet, took Ethan's hands in his. "I know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work."

"You do?"

"You always do this. You promise that nothing's going to happen to me, that you won't let anything happen to me. Then you push me away when you get scared that you can't actually protect me. But here's the thing." Benji paused and Ethan stared into his sharp blue eyes. "I don't need you to protect me. I'm a field agent. I know the risks."

"But—"

"And I'm not letting you go off to chase Lane and Lark and two nuclear bombs with Ilsa Faust at your back instead of me. You might think you're protecting me, mate, but I'm there to protect you, too."

Ethan knew that Benji believed what he was saying, but perhaps he didn't realize how dangerous this situation was. "But those bombs—"

"Ethan, darling. If we fail and those bombs go off, don't you think I'd much rather be by your side at the end of the world, than hiding alone in a cave of misery here in London?" Benji's eyes suddenly went bright with tears. "You're still the center of my universe, Ethan. I orbit around you, and I don't want it any other way. Okay?"

Ethan wanted to fight. He wanted to argue and he wanted to force Benji to stay someplace where he'd knew he'd be safe. But he knew it wouldn't work. Benji was as stubborn as he was. Maybe more. And deep down, he didn't want Benji half a world away while he faced the bad guys alone. He wanted Benji with him, where they could do it together. So he said the only thing he could say. "Okay."

Benji hugged him tight. "It's going to be all right," he whispered. "We'll figure it out."

Ethan clung to Benji, suddenly needing to feel him safe and warm in his arms. "There's something else."

"What?"

"Julia."

He felt Benji tense up in his arms. "Julia," Benji repeated slowly. Then he drew back to look Ethan in the eye. "What about her?"

Ethan decided not to mention the weird dreams, since that might open a can of worms he wasn't prepared to deal with just then. Instead he simply explained what Lark had said. "I don't know what he means, but I wanted to warn you."

"Jesus. Those guys are monsters," Benji said. "Understatement, I know. But—fuck, Ethan. I'm so sorry."

Ethan felt another stab of worry, pushed it down. "We're going to get them. We're going to fix this. And we're going to do it together."

"Now that's a plan I can get behind," Benji said. "Let's do it."

***

Benji
March 2017
London

Benji tried to focus on the mechanics of the trip they were about to undertake. He told himself that now was not the time to examine the complex emotions that were swirling just under the surface. But they was difficult to ignore, all the same.

Lark had threatened Julia. Julia. She who represented everything that was good in the world. She who represented everything that Benji feared Ethan would someday leave him for. Someone normal. Someone female.

Ilsa walked into the room, began studying guns. She only met one of the aforementioned criteria, Benji thought. He sighed at himself. He was being unfair. He knew she had her own agenda, but she had signed up to go after Lane with them, not against them.

"Everything okay?" Ilsa asked, her tone mild.

"Yeah," he muttered.

"Okay," she said, as if she didn't believe him. He couldn't help the fact that he was wary of the glamorous, deadly agent. He'd trusted her once. That trust had been hard to give and almost instantly rescinded. He was struggling to offer it again.

"Why are you doing this?" he said, finally. "At this point, wouldn't it be easier just to go on the run?"

"I tried running. It didn't suit me as much as I thought it would."

"But you have to know that this mission—it doesn't look good."

"I know." She disassembled a semi-automatic handgun with practiced ease, inspecting the parts critically. "I suppose I'm doing it for the same reason you are."

He had a lot of reasons for seeing this mission through: he was a field agent, he couldn't trust it to anyone else, his hated Lane and wanted to foil his plot against humanity. But he thought he knew what she really meant.

Ethan. They were doing it for Ethan.

"You're in love with him." Benji's voice was flat.

She smiled slightly. "How can you not fall at least a little bit in love with a man like that?"

Benji couldn't argue. Still, it hurt to hear her confirm his suspicions. "You can't," he said quietly.

"The difference is," Ilsa spoke while reassembling the gun without even looking at it, "he loves you back."

Benji let out a breath. He didn't know what to say.

"I've done things, Benji, things that I'm not proud of. Things my government told me to do that would endear me to a villain. And worse, I stood by and let bad things happen that maybe I could have stopped. I can't do that anymore. It costs too much."

"So this is your penance?"

"This is my chance to prove that I'm better than Lane."

Benji suddenly realized that Ilsa wasn't a threat to him. Not physically. Not in his relationship with Ethan. She was lost. And she was looking for a star to guide her. Ethan was that star. He was the center of it all, the one whose gravity kept everyone's world turning. Ethan's morality would be Ilsa's salvation. Benji's voice softened. "You're better than Lane. You're better than you think. You don't have to prove it to anyone."

She smiled, her voice thick. "Just to myself."

Chapter Text

Benji
March 2017
Kashmir

Kashmir was cold in March. Benji was grateful for his long underwear. He didn't have enough body fat to insulate him at these altitudes. He'd finally cracked the puzzle that was figuring out how to disarm the nuclear bombs—unfortunately the solution was so complicated and involved so many moving parts, his initial elation had faded almost immediately into a churning in his gut. He knew they had a decent track record, and they were certainly motivated. But he wasn't sure that locating and disable two bombs and a key weren't just a tad too much for them.

Still, Ethan was intensely focused on the end goal, and that's what the rest of the team was, too. So Benji would keep his cool and do everything he could to see that the four of them got out of this alive. Saving the world from the shock of twin nuclear explosions would be good, too.

They pulled up the medical camp, radioactivity scanners blazing. Ilsa was right when she said looking for the bombs here was like looking for a needle in the haystack, but they had no choice.

"Let's split up. Stay on comms," Ethan said. Benji went right, looking down at his scanner, hoping to pick up something more than static, when he heard someone say Ethan's name. He turned in time to take in Ethan's stricken expression, to hear him utter her name.

Julia.

"Julia?"

He gaped at the woman who'd haunted him for years. He hadn't seen her since before he passed the field exam. Years. A good portion of which he'd thought her dead. Seeing her now was like seeing a ghost. But she was real. She'd aged, just a little; she was still beautiful in a practical, unassuming way, her long, chestnut hair gleaming in the sun. But she looked—unhappy. To see Ethan, at least.

"Is that…?" Ilsa didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. It was obvious in the stiff way that Ethan was holding himself, the catastrophic look on his face. The medical camp. That's what it was here for. To bring Julia to the epicenter of Ethan's nightmare.

Benji had never wished more ill will toward anyone than he felt toward Solomon Lane at that moment. Lane had crossed so many lines, but this was the worst. And he ached, ached for Ethan, to be confronted with his past, with his failures, with his broken promises, in such a visceral way. If Benji could take away that pain from Ethan, he'd do it in a second.

Then a man, tall, rawboned, strode out to meet the awkward party of two. Benji could hear the entire conversation over the comm.

"This is my husband, Erik," Julia was saying. She sounded strange, like she was fighting back panic. But she schooled herself. She knew what their being there meant. Nothing good, that's for damn sure.

His heart broke for Ethan. Julia was married. Ethan would have told him if he knew. Benji couldn't imagine what Ethan was feeling coming face to face with his remarried ex-wife. If they had met under any other circumstances, Benji could have gone to him, stood side by side in solidarity, grabbed his hand to give him strength, to show Julia that Ethan had moved on, too. But any of that was so far out of the realm of possibility to be laughable.

"You're a long way from home," Ethan said.

The husband—Erik—started explaining how they ended up moving from Darfur to this very spot, and Julia glanced over her shoulder. Benji locked eyes with her for a moment, she looked shocked, and scared, and yet, sadly resigned. He could empathize all too well.

The bearded husband/doctor was babbling about having found his true calling while Luther started off in a promising direction. Ethan needed to extricate himself from this situation, fast. Then Ethan, ever polite, ever gracious, said, "You're very kind," the husband finally left, and then Benji watched as Ethan pulled Julia into a short, tight embrace.

He heard Ethan's roughly whispered words over the comm, "I'm sorry, Julia, I'm so sorry." Benji's heart twisted violently in his chest. Then they were off and running.

Ethan
March 2017
Kashmir

"Walker has the detonator." Which meant Ethan was going after him. He trusted Luther to take care of the first bomb, he trusted Ilsa and Benji to find the second. He'd get the detonator. They'd stop this.

As he raced toward the pair of helicopters, Julia's stricken face swam into his mind. His anger at Lane propelled his legs, pushing him harder, faster. If Lane wanted him to give up and face defeat, he'd chosen the wrong tactics. He'd brought everyone he cared about to ground zero, hoping Ethan would either give up or fail and have to endure the pain of losing everyone—everyone.

But Lane had chosen poorly. Because Ethan never, ever, gave up when his friends' lives were on the line.

He jumped for the rope dangling from the helicopter, and held on.

Benji
March 2017
Kashmir

Benji had had to physically force himself not to look while Ethan ran off in pursuit of the detonator—he and Ilsa had to focus on finding the other bomb. But it was hard to keep his head in the game when he heard a familiar voice over the comm. "What can I do?"

Benji took his eyes off the meter, touched his comm to make sure he was hearing right when Luther sighed and asked her for a pair of pliers.

No, no, no. Ethan would not want Julia in the field, next to a bloody nuclear bomb. "Are you insane?" he hissed.

"Mind your business, Benji," Luther growled.

"This is my business!" he said, with some heat. "Ethan wouldn't want—"

"Benji? Benji? Do you copy?" Ethan's voice, sounding staticky and far away, broke onto the line.

"Ethan? Ethan, where are you?"

"I'm in a helicopter, going after Walker."

"Hold on. How did you get in the helicopter?"

"You can fly a helicopter?" Ilsa said skeptically.

Benji's stomach flipped. He happened to know that Ethan did not, in fact, know how to fly a helicopter. But that was neither here nor there at the moment.

"Did you say helicopter?" Luther asked. "What the hell are you doing in a helicopter?"

"Did you find the other bomb?" Ethan asked.

"We're still looking…" Benji glanced around the tent, not seeing anything that matched the size and shape of the first bomb. They had to start looking faster—or smarter. "How are you going to get the detonator?"

"I'll figure it out," Ethan said. "You find the bomb, I'll get the detonator. I won't let you down." He paused. "I won't let you down. Be ready."

"Look, Ethan, Ethan." The static worsened. "Ethan, come in!"

He didn't answer.

What felt like an eternity later, but was probably only a minute, Ilsa sounded fed up with looking for the bomb in the sea of medical equipment. "I'm heading to the village."

"Wait for me, all right—" Benji cut himself off. He'd stumbled onto a tent full of boxes giving off radioactive signatures. Almost any one of them could be the bomb. Fuck. He tried to judge which was the most likely by size, and started breaking into one. In the background, he registered Luther's voice calmly giving instructions to Julia about wires and screws. It sounded like once they found the bomb, it would take a while just to get it to point where they could disarm it. Great.

"So, how is he?" Julia said. Benji closed his eyes at the question. Natural that she should ask. Natural that he'd feel a pang. He shrugged it off, kept going.

"Benji, I see Lane." Ilsa's voice came clearly over the comm as he struggled with another lock.

"What? Where?"

"He's in a house at the edge of the village."

"All right, just wait for me, okay?" Lane was too dangerous to go after alone. And he wasn't their mission right now—the bomb was. Of course, waiting around and following directions wasn't Ilsa's strong suit, Benji realized. "Ilsa—wait for me!" She didn't respond. He had to see what was in this box—but then when he finally smashed the lock and looked inside, it was just an x-ray machine. "Damn it."

"Benji, I found the other bomb."

Thank god. "Ilsa, where are you?"

"I'm in a house—" then there was a splintering sound, grunts of pain. Jesus. Benji started running. Ilsa needed his help.

It took far too long to find the right house. He called her name. They had no time for stealth. "Ilsa, where are you?"

He heard a muffled cry, headed up the stairs. There she was—tied up and yelling through a gag. Shit. He had to get her loose—they had to prepare to disarm the—

Something rough and heavy settled around his neck, and someone barreled into his from the side. He had the wind knocked out of him and the—shit, it was rope—around his neck tightened, restricting his airflow. Lane was all he could register before he was fighting, fighting for his life. He dimly heard Ilsa's cries over the mess and noise that he and Lane were making as they wrestled through the house.

Lane fought like a machine—relentless, ruthless. It seemed as if he was taking pleasure in inflicting pain. He pulled at the rope. Benji had never felt like this before—unable to breathe, unable to think. He saw the bottle, smashed it over Lane, winning a moment of reprieve. He fought, as he'd been trained to do. But Lane had been trained better. He fought dirtier. Benji was losing. He was going to let Ethan down, and they were all going to die. Because he wasn't strong enough against Lane. Again.

The noose around his neck tightened as Lane hauled him up to his feet.

"You can't stop it," Lane whispered close to his ear. It was the voice of a madman. "There's nothing he can do. When the clock runs out, Ethan Hunt will lose everything, and everyone, he ever cared about."

He was choking; Lane was going to hang him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He suddenly registered Ilsa's desperate launch of herself up and over a piece of furniture, freeing herself in one move. He watched through squinted eyes as she threw herself at Lane. He struggled with the rope around his neck, scrabbling at it, even though he knew it was useless, and then—something firm appeared under his feet. Ilsa had pushed something toward him for him to stand on, and he gasped, taking in a partial breath of air.

Lane pushed Ilsa hard, but she came up with a bottle, Lane's cry of pain as Ilsa plunged it into his thigh giving Benji a tendril of hope. Ilsa tossed the bottle with its sharp, jagged edges and Benji caught it, started sawing desperately away at the rope that threatened to cut off his air supply at any moment.

Lane and Ilsa danced around him in a ballet of violence, and suddenly Lane had Ilsa right where he wanted her, weak as a rag doll. Benji couldn't let him take a final, killing blow, so he pushed up, off the box, thudded into Lane with all his might. He succeeded in throwing Lane off balance, giving Ilsa time to recover, but the box tumbled away, and the rope tightened around his neck once again.

He tried to keep sawing at the rope, tried to keep his wits, tried…tried…he couldn't breathe. His arms dropped. His shoulders slumped. His eyes closed.

Was this what Ethan felt like in the torus, all those years ago? Had he felt this darkness gathering at the edges as his oxygen, slowly but surely, ran out? Was Ethan all right, high above the mountaintops in a helicopter he couldn't even work properly? Would he get the detonator? Would all of this be for nothing, and the entire valley incinerated despite all their efforts?

The darkness grew, overtaking everything around it. Sometimes Benji felt like his entire life was a dream, and only when he was with Ethan did it seem real. Ethan was his light, his star, his sun. Hell, he was the moon and earth and all the planets. Ethan was his universe. It had been a privilege to know him. It had been a privilege to love him. Now, it was a privilege to die fighting alongside him.

It was dark.

The pinpoint of white opened like an aperture, and suddenly all the light and noise and air came flooding back in. Benji gasped, coughing, frantic to replenish his lost oxygen. He spied Lane on the ground next to him, scrambled away instinctively, turned and saw Ilsa. She was panting and bloodied and it was clear she'd saved his life.

"Thank you," he gasped.

"I promised him that I wouldn't let Lane have you. I failed him once. I couldn't do it again," she said tiredly. "Now, tie him up. We have to diffuse this bomb."

Ethan
March 2017
Kashmir

"Why won't you just die?"

This was the final battle. Ethan could feel it. He had almost nothing left, but he had to keep going. He had to get that detonator. He couldn't let them down. He couldn't let the world down.

He wouldn't die because if he died, then Luther would die. Ilsa would die. Julia would die. And Benji—Benji would die.

With every punch, with every kick, Ethan felt himself getting weaker. But then he realized—John Lark was nobody. And everybody. He was a stand-in for everyone who had ever stood in Ethan's way while he protected the world. John Lark was Jim Phelps. Sean Ambrose. Davian. Musgrave. Hendricks. Even Solomon Lane himself.

And he was Ethan. Matthew. Hunt.

He yanked on the rope with a snarl and watched as John Lark, as every villain he'd ever faced, fell down the mountain and was obliterated. Then he turned back to the rock face, and started climbing.

Benji
March 2017
Kashmir

"Three…two…one, cut." Benji cut the wire and shut his eyes. The bomb mechanism whirred, the plutonium ball dropped into his hand. It had worked, which meant Ethan had gotten the detonator. Which meant he was still alive. Benji's eyes welled with tears. They'd survived. He locked eyes with Ilsa, and they glanced in unison at Lane, who dropped his head down in defeat.

Benji started to laugh and Ilsa joined him. He pulled her into a rough hug. They'd had each others' backs and made it through. Maybe it was just the euphoria of not being dead, but he felt trust blooming between them again, and it felt…good.

"You were wrong," he said in Lane's general direction, "when you said there was nothing he could do. He's Ethan Hunt. Impossible is his stock-in-trade. You should know that by now."

Ilsa wiped tears from her eyes and said to Lane, "You resent him because Ethan has the one thing you never did—someone to live for." She smiled at Benji. "He's a lucky man."

Benji smiled back, but his smile disappeared when Ilsa crouched down and located a knife in the rubble. She walked toward Lane with purpose.

"Er, Ilsa, what are you going to do with that?" he asked.

"Hasn't he caused enough harm?" Ilsa said. "I'm ending it, for good."

"Wait—you can't do that," Benji said. "We have to turn him over to the authorities."

Ilsa walked right up to Benji, glared at him. "Are you telling me you wouldn't sleep better knowing this man is dead?"

Benji swallowed. Ilsa was an angry goddess, and he didn't particularly want to cross her. He also one hundred percent would feel better if Solomon Lane was dead and buried. But it wasn't right, not like this. "I know you think you have to do this for MI6, but there's another way. Ethan will find it."

"I'm not doing it for MI6, Benji," she hissed, "I'm doing it for me. For us." She reached up and ghosted her fingers over the side of Benji's neck. He could feel the raw burns of the rope, imagined his neck looked red and angry. He'd heal. But he knew from personal experience you didn't heal entirely when you took a life. Even if was the life of someone who'd done what Solomon Lane had.

"Ilsa, you don't have to do this," Benji said calmly, waiting for her to truly hear him. "Please."

Her eyes filled with tears and she looked at the knife in her hands. "Fuck. You're right." She tucked the knife into her belt, then she cocked an ear. "Do I hear helicopters?"

They walked carefully to the rickety porch. Benji was astonished to see three Blackhawk helicopters landing in the field across the valley. "Apostles?" Ilsa guessed.

"CIA," Benji said. "Probably."

Chapter Text

Benji
March 2017
Kashmir

It was the CIA. Benji and Ilsa stayed with Lane, to whom Benji administered a strong sedative so they didn't have to deal with his poisonous mind games, while Luther, carrying the other plutonium core, met Sloane herself, plus a dozen agents she swore were clean, plus an entire contingent on loan from the Indian Army. Benji could hear Luther and Sloane's conversation over the comm, and he explained their location and situation to Luther to convey to Sloane. Minutes later, a hazmat unit made its way toward them. Benji was happy to hand the core over, and to leave the bomb unit cleanup to them, as well.

"What are you going to do with Lane?" Benji asked, as the team replaced their rope with zip ties and shackles.

"We won't let him get away, if that's what you're asking," one of the agents said.

Benji rolled his eyes. "See that you don't."

"Sloane wants to talk to you," another agent said. "I'll escort you."

"Seems we're being given the A-list treatment, Ilsa," Benji said with mock jocularity.

"Should I be worried?" Ilsa looked half like she wanted to bolt. Benji remembered what she'd said to him in London.

"If you start running now, you'll never stop." He reached out, grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Ethan won't let them mess with you. He's got your back. And so do I."

Ilsa squeezed back, then dropped his hand and squared her shoulders. "Lead the way, then, Agent Dunn."

"Ethan's out there, somewhere. We need to go get him," was the first thing he said when he got to Sloane's makeshift command center in the admin building of the medical camp.

"It's already being taken care of, Agent Dunn," she said. She glanced at her watch. "The chopper located him twenty minutes ago. He should be arriving in about ten minutes."

"What's his condition? Is he all right?"

"He's alive," Sloane confirmed. "We'll know more when they land. Now, you need medical care. Good thing this place is lousy with doctors."

Benji shook his head. "Let them treat Ethan first. Who knows what condition he's in? I can wait."

Sloane raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. "Can you? Then why don't you go make sure they have everything ready while I have a word with Ms. Faust. We'll speak more later."

Benji glanced at Ilsa. He mouthed the question, "Okay?" She nodded; she could handle herself with Sloane. Benji retreated, willed the helicopter bearing Ethan to materialize. He spotted Erik coming out of the next tent over and ran to him.

"Ethan—uh, Dr. Thorne, he's been injured and he's being airlifted in. Can you prepare—"

Erik held up a hand to stop him. "We're getting an emergency room set up right now. Who are you again?"

"Benji," Julia supplied, coming out of the tent. Benji looked at her. She looked calmer now that nuclear annihilation had been averted.

"Julia. Hi."

"Hi."

"Ethan's hurt. I don't know how badly."

"I know." She stepped forward, raised her hand. "May I?"

Benji hesitated, then nodded. She peeked behind the collar of his shirt. "We need to get you cleaned up. Probably you need an x-ray, too. Are you experiencing any pain when you swallow?"

Benji had barely registered the myriad bruises, cuts, rope burns he surely had. He swallowed experimentally. Nothing felt damaged, at least.

"I'm okay. I need you to take care of him." Then he froze. Had he said too much? If Ethan hadn't known she was married, then she probably had no idea that he and Ethan were together, had been together for three-odd years. He held her gaze, her clear green eyes watching him with such openness, such compassion. She was probably an amazing doctor. He felt like she could see into his very soul.

She spoke before he broke down into tears under the softness of her expression. "I'll take care of him. Don't worry. It's good to see you, Benji."

"It's—" the rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat. It was good to see her, but it was also…complicated. He was saved from embarrassing himself further by the beat of helicopter blades as a blue and white rescue chopper dropped down a hundred yards away from them. Ethan was back.

Ethan
March 2017
Kashmir

They must have given him something for the pain, because everything was blurry. But through the haze he saw Ilsa and Luther. Benji. They were all right. Ethan relaxed back against the hard plastic gurney. They were all right. He hadn't let them down.

Julia
March 2017
Kashmir

Ethan, as banged up as he was, was strong and resilient enough that even though he'd been given a sedative, he'd woken up not long after they'd finished taping up his ribs, stitching a few of his more grievous cuts. She watched him as his eyelids fluttered and he pulled himself up from the depths of drug-induced sleep. He looked older than that last time she'd seen him. His hair was shorter. His stubble was gray. But his stubborn jaw, the bold sweep of his nose, those hadn't changed. He was still Ethan. Still beautiful. Still too-good-to-be-true.

He woke up and he said her name. And then tears filled his eyes. She hadn't seen him cry since the day she'd told him she wanted to end it. It wasn't any easier to see him cry this time, but it would be easier to give him some peace. She hoped, anyway.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Look at me," she said, waiting for him to turn toward her. She wanted him to hear her, really hear her. "Look at my life. I love what I do, and I never would have found this if I hadn't met you. And everything that happened…it taught me who I am. It showed me what I am capable of, and I—I am a survivor." She meant every word. It hadn't always been easy. But she'd gotten there—gotten here, and she was proud of who she'd become.

"But what happened here—it was my—" Ethan seemed intent on blaming himself.

"Nothing happened. Because you were here." She smiled. "And I sleep soundly at night knowing you always will be."

Ethan sighed. He swallowed. He blinked back tears, but his frown slid hesitantly into a smile. "You're—happy?"

Julia couldn't help the joy that bubbled up in her seeing him smile, seeing him accept that he'd done the right thing all those years ago by letting her go. "Very. I'm exactly where I should be. And so are you." She leaned down, kissed him lightly, felt him squeeze her arm. Underneath the antiseptic medical smells, he still smelled like Ethan. She experienced a moment of vertigo, as if no time had passed at all, and then the world righted itself and she stood, letting him go.

"I have to tell you something," he whispered. "Um, I'm thinking of getting married again."

"Oh." It wasn't exactly what she'd thought he'd say. "Just thinking about it?"

"I'm with someone. I've been with someone for a while but—"

"Can you be with them and do this?" That had always been the part that hadn't worked for them.

Ethan nodded. "I can."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Julia realized that she was genuinely happy if Ethan had someone in his life like that. He'd always been a great husband. It was just that the kind of husband he was best at being wasn't the kind of husband that worked for her.

Ethan's gaze flickered over her shoulder. She turned. Benji stood in the doorway, looking tired. He really needed a thorough examination and—huh. She looked back down at Ethan, took in the smile on his face. She glanced back at Benji. His mouth bore was an exact replica of the same soft, goofy smile.

"Oh," she said again. She waited for the shock. She waited for the jealousy. She waited for the puzzlement. All she got was a sense of rightness. Of course. Benji was Ethan's perfect fit. They were two cogs that fit together, working together to solve the world's most perplexing problems. Of course Ethan could be married to Benji and still do what he did.

"I'll just go check something," she said, backing away from Ethan's bed. He was still staring at Benji. She paused next to Benji in the doorway, gave him a quick, hard hug. "Congratulations," she whispered. Then she pulled the flap of the tent closed. Engagements should happen in private, she'd always thought.

Ethan
March 2017
Kashmir

Ethan dimly registered that Julia had left. He knew that he wouldn't be dreaming about her anymore. She'd set him free, for the second time in their lives. He'd be grateful to her forever.

But right now, he only had eyes for one person. The person in question walked toward him slowly. Ethan pushed up from the pillows before he remembered he was attached to an IV.

"Hey, you," Benji said.

"Hey." Ethan reached his hand out, Benji clasped it between both of his, brought it to his mouth, kissed it. Ethan closed his eyes as the tears welled up once more. Jesus, the pain meds must be making him weepy. He opened his eyes. Benji's face, raw and tired, was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Or maybe he was just so relieved he had to cry to make room for the enormity of the emotion.

"You did it," Benji said.

"We did it," Ethan corrected. "Thank you."

"Lane's in custody," Benji said. "Hope that's going to be for the best."

"We'll make sure of it," Ethan promised. "Ilsa and Luther, they're okay?"

"Luther's in with Sloane now, talking her through the timeline. He's fine. Ilsa's banged up. She—she's going to be okay."

There was something in Benji's tone when it talked about Ilsa that set Ethan's alarm bells off. "What happened with Ilsa?" Then something else caught his attention. Benji had a contusion on his forehead that Ethan had already noted, but then he saw what looked like burns along the side of his neck. "What happened, Benji?"

Benji was silent for a long moment. "What happened?" Ethan repeated, more insistently this time.

"Ilsa saved my life. Lane was—well, the put it simply, he hanged me, Ethan."

"Jesus Christ." Ethan closed his eyes against the wave of anger and pain those words invoked.

"Ilsa cut me down. She took down Lane herself. I wasn't strong enough to do it alone."

Ethan's eyes flew open. "Listen to me. You did everything you could. You figured out how to disarm the bombs. We found them. We stopped them. We did it."

"Yeah. I know." Benji smiled weakly. "I know that, Ethan."

"Then why haven't you been checked out yet? Why haven't your wounds been treated?"

"Er, I wouldn't let them work on me until they'd patched you up. You came in unconscious, Ethan. I was worried—"

"I'm going to be okay."

"You crashed a helicopter into another helicopter and then free climbed up a mountain." Benji's voice was dry.

"So?"

Benji laughed. "I love you, Ethan Hunt."

Ethan laughed, an aborted sound that sent a shock of pain through his ribs. "I'm glad, Benji. Now go get someone to take a look at you. Now."

"Okay," Benji whispered. He leaned down, brushed his lips lightly over Ethan's. Then he stopped, stood up and looked around. "Oh, good."

"What?"

"No one's around. I just thought maybe you wouldn't want Julia to, um, know…about us."

"I think she actually already figured it out," Ethan said slowly.

"Oh, is that okay?"

"It's okay with me. Is it okay with you?"

"I guess. Yes. Of course." Benji shuffled his feet. "Er, so, you think she's all right with it then?"

"She's happy for us."

"And you, how are you feeling about that tall bearded bloke?" Benji squinted as he spoke, to take the edge off the question, Ethan knew.

Ethan let out a breath. "She's happy. That's all the matters. That's all I've ever wanted."

"Then I'm happy for her, too," Benji declared.

"I don't see us double dating anytime soon, but we can't have everything."

"Was that a joke, Ethan Hunt? Those pain meds must be pretty strong." Benji smiled, his eyes fond.

Ethan felt his heart rate speed up and it had nothing to do with his meds. It was because he wanted to do one more thing before Benji left, and it was taking all of his courage to spit it out. "There is just one thing, uh, I, ah, wanted to ask you."

"What's that, then?"

"I uh, I wanted to do this somewhere else. Somewhere that meant something, maybe Paris or even back home." Ethan cleared his throat. "But I suppose this place means something now. The place we beat the odds and saved the world."

"Again," Benji put in.

"Yes, again." Ethan wished he had the ring he'd bought. It would make this all rather easier. "I even bought a—well, I'll give it to you someday. If you want it."

"Ethan, darling, I have no idea what you're going on about. Should I get Julia in here to adjust your meds?"

"No! Just give me a minute." Ethan tried to control his breathing. "Benji, I'm trying to say that our lives are a series of impossibilities, but the most impossible thing is that you love me. You make me feel like nothing else in this world is impossible when I have your love. And I'd be—" Ethan searched for the right word while Benji watched him with rounded eyes "—honored if you'd marry me, so I can spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you've made me."

"Marry you?" Benji said, his voice incredulous. Ethan's heart squeezed painfully.

He nodded. "I love you so much Benji. You're my star. You're my sun. I need your warmth, your light. You give me life. Please let me share my life with you. Always."

Benji's face crumpled, and he let out a sob, then buried his face in Ethan's shoulder.

"Shhh, don't cry, Benji." Ethan patted Benji's back awkwardly with his non-IV hand. "It's okay. You don't have to—"

"No! I'm marrying you and there's nothing you can do to stop me, do you hear me, Ethan Hunt?" Benji cried fiercely.

Ethan laughed, relief and joy mingling to make him feel lightheaded. Possibly it was also the pain the laughter caused his ribs. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Benji pressed a long kiss to Ethan's mouth. When they broke apart, Benji's eyes were bright, and he was smiling. "I've never been engaged before."

"It suits you," Ethan said.

"You suit me."

"We suit each other."

"That we do," Benji whispered. "That we do."

Chapter Text

Will
June 2017
London

"They're coming." Luther locked his phone, put it in the pocket of his suit pants.

"I'm not ready," Will said, wrestling with the knot in his tie.

"Well then, get ready," Luther smirked.

"Let me do that," Jane said, batting Will's hands away. "Your fingers are shaking. Why are you so nervous? You're not the one getting married."

"I just don't want anything to go wrong," Will said. Was he sweating? He felt like he was sweating.

"It's going to be fine, Will," Jane said, tying his tie expertly. "Jesus, even Diego wasn't this nervous when we got married."

"You were a little shaky, as I recall." Diego said to his wife as he brought over a glass of something brown and thrust it into Will's hand. "Here, this'll help."

Will smiled his thanks and took the glass, throwing back the drink easily.

"Okay, yeah, I was a bit fluttery. But I was actually getting married. Will's just the best man."

"Co-best man," Luther reminded everyone.

The door to the suite opened, and Ilsa strode in, looking like a million bucks, as always. "Ten minutes. Time to go, everyone."

Will took a deep breath. Squared his shoulders. "Game face." He caught Jane and Luther rolling their eyes in unison.

The party made their way to the rooftop garden. The officiant was there, as well as a few members of the hotel staff to make sure things ran smoothly. Tea lights strung around made the space look sparkly and dreamlike. Evening had only just fallen, and the orange glow of the setting sun could be seen in the distance over the London skyline.

Will walked over to the only other person present, a silver-haired man sitting in the small cluster of chairs, and shook his hand. "Mr. Secretary," he said formally.

Alan Hunley nodded. "Agent Brandt." Then he smiled. "Forgive me not getting up." He indicated a cane hooked over the back of his chair.

"It's good to see you, sir," Will said. He had been running a specialized training course for new IMF recruits in Alaska when the Lark/Lane debacle occurred. He'd gotten the phone call that the Secretary had been wounded in the line of duty, stabbed by the man known to him as August Walker. The CIA cleanup crew had found him bleeding out, rushed him to a hospital in time to save his life. But he wasn't as young as he used to be, and recovery had been slow. Still, he'd retained his title as Secretary while Will ran things at the office. They'd all taken a few days off for this most momentous of occasions.

Will had been appalled to hear about what Ethan, Benji, Luther, and Ilsa had been through on that last mission. But he'd been overjoyed when Ethan had told him that he and Benji were making it official and were intending to marry.

Back home in D.C., Will had asked Ethan, "Why now?"

"You know that Julia was there, in Kashmir?"

Will had nodded.

"She made me see that my life, crazy as it is, is how it's meant to be. I know I'm meant to be with Benji. I was just scared."

"Ethan Hunt, scared?"

"Being in love in the scariest place to be, sometimes," Ethan had said.

Will wished he could say he knew what that felt like. Maybe one day he'd be as lucky as Ethan and Benji were to have found each other and realize what they meant to each other.

Now he just wanted the best for his friends, so they could have one night that was about celebrating their love and their commitment, and not about saving the world. Just about saving each other.

Julia and her husband had been invited, Will knew, but they were busy setting up a new field hospital in Malawi and had sent their love. So it was just the six of them, waiting for the stars of the show.

Will checked his watch. "Wonder what's taking them so long?"

***

Benji
June 2017
London

The elevator ride up to the rooftop seemed to take forever, but Benji didn't mind. Ethan had backed Benji up against the wall of the elevator as soon as the doors closed behind them and started kissing his jaw.

"Ethan, I think you're doing things out of order," Benji said with mock sternness. "We're not on the honeymoon yet."

"Have I told you how much I like you in suspenders?" Ethan said, tracing a line over Benji's left suspender, the casually intimate gesture turning Benji's mouth dry.

"Only about every time I wear them. Why do you think I chose them for today?"

Ethan grinned. His smile was unfettered, free of angst, pain, guilt, or loss. He looked entirely, unabashedly happy. Benji hoped he could keep that sort of smile on his face every day for the rest of their lives.

"You look happy," Benji said quietly, threading his index fingers through Ethan's belt loops to keep him firmly planted against him.

"I'm happy, Benji. So happy." Ethan kissed him and Benji's mouth opened underneath the pressure of Ethan's beautiful lips. Their tongues touched, the spark, as ever, strong enough to set Benji's insides to melting. The kiss went on forever, full of all the memories they'd made together, full of promise for all the tomorrows they'd spend together.

"I'm happy, too," Benji whispered, when they came up for air.

"What do you say we get married tonight?" Ethan said playfully.

"I say…yeah. What the hell? Let's get married." Benji glanced around the elevator. "But we can't if this elevator never arrives. What's taking so bloody long?"

"I sort of hit the emergency stop button," Ethan admitted, a lock of hair falling over his forehead, making him look even younger than usual. Benji pushed it back, gave Ethan one more kiss.

"That explains it, then."

They broke apart, fixing the lines of their lapels, brushing their hair back into place. Benji kept hold of Ethan's hand, though, as his soon-to-be-husband reached for elevator's control panel. Ethan hesitated before hitting the button. "Ready?"

Benji took a deep breath. Nodded. "Ready."

Ethan hit the button. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. They walked out, hand in hand, to the cheers of their very best friends in the world. Benji felt his face might split from smiling so hard; it was an affliction everyone present seemed to have.

The ceremony progressed by the book, in a blur of laughter, tears, and quiet, heartfelt moments. Benji wasn't sure he'd remember every moment of the night, but he'd remember to his dying day the look in Ethan's eyes when he said, "I do," and pledged himself to Benji for the rest of this life. Benji was unashamed to be crying when he did the same. They slid the rings onto each other's fingers, and then they were kissing, their first kiss as a married couple.

The whoops and hollers of their friends echoed around them. "I love you, husband," Ethan said, low enough that only Benji could hear him. Benji's spine tingled.

"I love you, too, husband," he said back, and Ethan's hand tightened on his immediately. He couldn't wait to get his husband somewhere private so they could make love while whispering that word to each other over and over again.

They accepted the hugs and the back slaps, and Benji's gaze slid over the faces of all the people he loved most—even Hunley. He locked eyes with Ilsa, and she gave him a brilliant smile. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Congratulations, Benji," she whispered.

"Thank you," he said. "For everything."

She nodded, wiped at her eyes. "Now, where's that champagne?"

As if on cue, the bottles started popping, and the wine started flowing. They had arranged to eat supper on the roof all together at one large round table. The conversation was lively, as everyone shared their favorite Ethan/Benji moments.

Benji doubled over laughing at a story Luther was telling, when Jane started clacking her fork against her champagne glass.

"It's been too long—we need a kiss!" she yelled.

"Kiss, kiss, kiss!" the group chanted, until Benji, face scarlet, leaned over and planted a smooch on Ethan's mouth. They broke apart laughing.

"You two are disgustingly cute," Will said.

"That's one way to put it," Luther said.

"You're just jealous," Jane said.

"Amen," Ilsa said.

"So, I suppose after your honeymoon, you'll be heading back to work?" Hunley said.

The table grew quiet. Benji and Ethan exchanged a glance.

"We've discussed it," Ethan said.

"And we're ready to go back into the field," Benji finished.

"But we're also going to be house-hunting. Something in the country, room for a workshop," Ethan said.

"And a garden," Benji added.

"For when we scale back."

"Someday."

They smiled at each other fondly. They loved being in the field. But if they were lucky, someday they'd have to leave it behind. And when they did, they'd still have each other. No matter where they went in the world, how far apart they ended up, the gravity between them would always pull them back together. Because that's where they belonged.

"I take back my earlier statement—you two are revoltingly cute," Will complained.

"I can see it now, revoltingly cute spy husbands, living on your farm, with your Labrador and your secret high-tech workshop, taking calls from Will when he's desperate," Jane teased. "It's the dream."

"It's our dream," Ethan said.

"It's our future," Benji corrected.

And it was.