Author's Note: I loved the Ghost Protocol movie, and really liked Rogue Nation, but was sad at the absence of Jane. I also low-key ship her and Ethan, and since there is little to no fanfic surrounding the two of them, I thought I'd give it a shot. This story takes place from the time when Ethan was shot to roughly the end of his six month absence before he went after the Syndicate. All reviews are greatly appreciated, and will help me decide if I should continue this story!
Pain coursed through his abdomen as his heart drummed harshly against his chest. He was now completely out of pain relievers, his gunshot wound had become grossly infected, and he didn't dare step foot outside the small house in his current condition. He groaned as he repositioned himself at the desk, the screen of his laptop going blurry for a brief moment as pain shot through him. Ethan wasn't sure how much longer he could take this, and he knew the infection wouldn't go anywhere without the help of antibiotics.
Three days ago he'd been shot and told, while standing in an old telephone booth, that the IMF had been shut down and he was to be brought in before the day was over. Shortly after hearing the world crumble around his feet, he considered his safest options. Contacting anyone from his team was out of the question; the IMF would be absorbed into the CIA and everyone would be under close surveillance. So, he drug his bloodied, bare feet down the empty road and used his skill set and limited resources to make it to a safe house he himself had set up some ten years ago in Lech, Austria. He had been able to staunch the bleeding of the gunshot wound long enough to make the two hour drive, and was even able to use some tweezers and a standard stitch kit in the first aid box to extract the bullet and sew himself up. Sure, he wasn't in the best condition to be doing so, and that's probably why the damn thing got infected. He needed medical attention, but he couldn't risk going outside and being brought in by the CIA, not when the Syndicate was still out there somewhere.
A knock at the front door jarred him from his pain induced haze and he staggered to his feet, grabbing the glock 9mm that rested beside him. He took short steps to the door, gun at the ready.
"I'm looking for a Mr. York, regarding the where-abouts of his lost dog," came a very familiar voice from the other side of the door. Ethan breathed a sigh of relief, Jane!
"What dog?" he asked, finishing the code.
"Montana," she answered back. Montana was the code name for 'all clear'.
Ethan smiled and opened the door, relief evident on his features as a worried Jane stepped inside, duffel bag slung over one shoulder and gun bag over the other. He shut the door behind her as she set her bags down.
She turned to him and looked him over, her features turning grim as she spotted the infected gunshot wound adorning his bare torso. "Ethan Hunt, before I answer any questions, I'm going to have to have a look at that."
When Jane stated she was going to do something, you didn't fight her. Ethan nodded his head and shuffled to the small sofa, sitting down and peeling the soiled bandages from the wound. The area around the wound was swollen and red, and blood trickled out of the poorly sewn stitches as the bandages were torn off. Jane moved to kneel before him, latex gloves already on and medical supplies dumped from her duffel onto the coffee table. She examined the wound with the softest touch, but even that sent shots of pain racing through Ethan.
"You have no idea how happy I am to see you Jane, but how'd you find me?" he asked as she grabbed for the scissors.
"I got a tip from Brandt," she said, giving him a small smile before cutting away at the stitches. "I was deep cover. He said he'd pass it on that he was unable to reach me, but he mentioned that they were searching for you and you may be in need of help. So, six hours later and here I am. Sped all the way from Lyon, France; made it past the Swiss boarder without a problem."
"Brandt's stuck on the inside?"
"I'd assume so. Sounds like he's still working right beside Hunley. Benji?"
"Haven't heard. I haven't talked to anyone in ages."
Jane removed the stitches and worked on properly cleaning the wound in silence, Ethan holding his breath. She plucked the tweezers off the table, her steady hands pulling pieces of debris that he had missed from the red, aching flesh. She cleaned it thoroughly once more, glancing up at Ethan to see he had his eyes closed and his jaw set tight.
"Almost done," she murmured, grabbing for the sewing kit to stitch it back up. Ethan could feel each stitch, the pain throbbing.
Jane finished the final stitch and quickly removed her gloves, handing him a small bottle. "Take three of these, they'll help the infection. I'll have to go into town early tomorrow and see if I can find something a little stronger. The infection's pretty nasty, but we'll get it cleaned up in no time."
Ethan grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "Thanks Jane. I don't know what I would've done if you didn't show up."
"No problem. Now lay down and rest, I'll get you some water." She smiled at him and turned towards the small galley kitchen. She filled a glass with tap water, turning back to the living room and handing it to him. He took the three pills and instantly his eyes drifted close as he settled into the couch.
"Bedroom is the last door on the left down the hall, make yourself at home," he murmured.
Jane grabbed her bags and made her way to the bedroom. The room was small and bare, with nothing but a king size bed and a dresser; typical Ethan Hunt interior décor. She set her bags by the side of the bed that looked like it hadn't been slept in (the other side had small dots of dry blood here and there on the rumpled sheets), and grabbed Ethan's two pillows. Keeping him elevated would help the swelling to go down.
When she returned to the living room a few minutes later, Ethan was already fast asleep.