Chapter Two: Job Security

Donald & Laura Brandt Home
Baltimore, Maryland

Will Brandt opened his eyes to Christie Brinkley.

The corners of the poster were curling, twenty years of time eating away at the double-sided tape he'd stuck it up there with as a high school senior. Or had it been Clint? He couldn't remember, they'd both been obsessed with her since Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl" video.

He could hear his parents downstairs in the kitchen. He didn't know if they knew he was there or not; he'd come in late last night….after the bar closed. The Belarus mission, on top of the one in Jakarta, on top of the one in Honolulu, plus that little stint in Malibu…Clint would've joked that he'd aged ten years in the past two, and he probably wouldn't be wrong.

After finishing the paperwork for the mission, he'd gone out to drink away the stress, and then his parents' place had been closer than his own. Should he have been ashamed that he was north of 40 years old and still sleeping in the bunkbeds he'd shared with his brother growing up? Probably, but-

"Morning, kiddo," Donald Brandt leaned in the doorway to his sons' bedroom. The Brandt patriarch had brown hair graying at the temples and blue eyes that matched Clint's. Will's eyes were brown, like their mother Laura's. It was really the only difference in the two of them, besides their preferred choice of weapon.

Will blinked and rolled onto his side. "How did you-"

"Your mom and I are used to you guys sneaking in," the former Baltimore PD officer informed his son. "And, you know, if you'd wanted a drinking buddy last night, I'm retired now…"

Will swung his legs over the bunk and grimaced as the room spun. "Ow. Yeah, well, if I had, Mom would be giving us both hell this morning. Please tell me there's coffee downstairs?"

Donald chuckled. "Yeah, but only if you go shower." He was still laughing as he closed the door, leaving Will alone.

He rubbed a hand over his face and carefully climbed off the bunk, trying not to kill himself in his hungover state. On the shelf, his text alert rang out, and he grimaced as the sound echoed in his ears. He grabbed it and squinted at the screen.

IHOP, 15min? –C

He raised an eyebrow. Clint was in town? The two of them in the same ZIP code was rarer than a blue moon. He paused, listening to his parents laugh over something in the comics section of the paper.

Will needed someone to talk to. His parents and Clint were the only ones, (well, besides the Avengers and Will's own IMF team) that knew what he actually did for a living. And while his parents were always great for a listening ear, he and Clint had their own deal when it came to the perils of the job. They called it 'declassifying,' that is, even if they weren't supposed to talk about it, they did anyway.

He needed to talk to Clint. He thumbed the lock screen and shot him a quick text back.

30min. Shower first. –W

The reply was almost instantaneous. Thank you! –C

Will snorted as he tossed the phone down on the bathroom counter and fired up the shower.


IHOP
Halethorpe, MD

Clint glanced up to see his brother coming in the door, his sunglasses firmly planted over his eyes. Will was hungover. That was interesting. His brother was not known to be the heavier drinker of the two brothers. He waved and Will threaded his way through the tables to the booth in the back. Clint was sitting at an angle, his eyes watching the whole restaurant.

"Morning, sunshine!" Clint singsonged as Will slid into the booth. Will flipped him off. "Hey now, there's kids present," Clint teased him.

"Shut up," Will responded. Their waitress came by, and Clint motioned for a second mug for coffee. There was no dialogue between them until Will's mug arrived and he'd consumed a quarter of the cup. "What the hell are you doing around here?" Will asked him.

Clint shifted on the hard blue cushion. "Just got back from a pickup," he replied. "Had to go get Tasha and Cap. I needed to keep up my quals."

"Ooo, Tasha and Cap were out doing something clandestine together?" Will wiggled an eyebrow.

Clint rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot."

"I still don't get why you haven't asked her out," Will said.

"I've told you; Tasha scares the hell out of me. And because I don't want to jeopardize a good partnership," Clint added. He cocked his head. "You of all people oughta know what happens when you do."

He couldn't see Will's eyes under the Oakleys but he knew they were probably shooting him a death glare. "Sorry. Low blow."

"It's fine." Their waitress came back and they both ordered. Then, Clint leaned forward. "I needed to talk to you. Speaking of Tasha and Cap…something's…off." He recounted the encounter on the jet coming back from the helicarrier.

"Any idea what the mission was?" Will asked him, more alert now.

"I know the boat was hijacked by pirates," Clint said, keeping his voice low below the din of the morning crowd. "I know Sitwell and some other high-ranking agents were onboard. And I know Natasha and Steve went in with Rumlow and his boys to go rescue them."

"SHIELD has helicarriers," Will said. "Why need a cargo ship?"

Clint shrugged. "No idea. Not my department. All I know is that they sent Natasha and Steve in for the rescue."

Will leaned back. "Any friendly casualties?"

Clint shook his head. "Just the pirates. It's weird, right?"

"Weird," Will agreed. "Where're Natasha and Steve now?"

"Probably getting debriefed," Clint said, glancing up as their waitress came back with breakfast. "Thanks, sweetheart," he told her, giving her a winning smile. She grinned back. "Anyway, what about you? Is there a reason you're hungover on a Monday morning?"

Will pinched the bridge of his nose as he reached for the ketchup for his eggs. "Rough mission," he replied. "Just the latest in a string of screw-ups."

Clint glanced around. "Uh. The world's still spinning, so…?" He frowned. "I'm confused."

Will ignored him and tackled his eggs. "The world may not keep spinning, at least not for the IMF," Will said after a moment.

"Look, I get that you're a secret agent man," Clint told him, trying to lighten the mood, "but you need to quit playing this game of vagueness and talk to me."

Will reached for his phone. He tapped a few icons, then wordlessly handed the phone to Clint and resumed eating. "Agent William Brandt, you are hereby summoned to appear in front of the Senate Intelligence Committee Monday, 11 a.m….to discuss the recent mishaps undertaken by the Impossible Missions Force covert team headed by Agent Ethan Hunt." He frowned. "'Mishaps?'" he repeated.

"Apparently, the committee doesn't like how we do our job," Will told him. 'Quite frankly, I'm not sure I do either, anymore. When Plan A goes south, by the end of the mission, we're on plan Z."

"And yet, I still repeat, the world is still spinning," Clint said. "I mean, come on. They're not the ones in the field, they don't know how intel can change from minute to minute, or how something can turn into a complete shitstorm in zero to sixty." Clint shook his head. "I hate it when the bureaucrats get involved in us doing our jobs," he sighed. "Last time someone tried that, they almost nuked New York."

Will glanced up. "You wanna go that meeting instead of me?" he asked hopefully. "They'd never know the difference."

Clint shook his head. "Not even a little," he replied.

Will sighed, and pushed his plate away. "I should get going, I've got no idea what the Beltway looks like."

"Hey," Clint said sharply. His brother paused. "I'm sure it'll be fine, Will," Clint said. "I'm willing to bet that Ethan Hunt's missions have been going south ever since they hired him." He nodded triumphantly when his brother cracked a corner of a smile. "This is probably just a formality. Don't worry about it." Then, he grinned. "Besides, if they can you, I bet I can get you on at SHIELD," he added.

Will glanced at him over the top of his glasses. "Thanks," he said finally. "And look, if whatever is going down between Steve and Natasha is bothering you so much, go ask them."

"Yeah, okay," Clint said. "Just ask a trained assassin who can kill me with her fingernails about the tension between her and Captain America, Earth's greatest hero."

He looked up at his brother. "Sure you don't wanna trade?" He was only half joking.


Capitol Hill
Senate Committee on Intelligence Hearing

Will Brandt tapped his foot on the carpet and tried his very best not to glare daggers at the salt and peppered head of the CIA, Alan Hunley. Hunley was currently in the middle of a rant and had been for the last ten minutes, beginning with some pompous introductions and the complete history of the IMF-but abridged, to fit his very narrow opinion of the Impossible Missions Force. "And now more recently," he was saying, "a Russian nuclear warhead-

"Disarmed nuclear warhead," Brandt muttered under his breath.

Hunley glanced sideways at him. Brandt ignored him. "A Russian nuclear warhead-"

"-Rendered safe by the IMF-" Brandt cut in again.

"-Clipped the TransAmerica pyramid before plunging into San Francisco Bay-"

"Saving the Western Hemisphere," Brandt pointed out with a shrug.

"-and was made possible by IMF agents who willingly provided nuclear launch codes to a known terrorist!" Hunley finished, giving his attention to Brandt. "Do I have that right, Agent Brandt?"

Will ignored him, looking up at the four members of the Senate Intelligence Committee. "I can neither confirm nor deny any details of any such operation without the approval of the Secretary of the IMF," he said finally.

Hunley took that as an opportunity to continue. "This all happened in the same week that the IMF infiltrated the Kremlin," Hunley went on, gesturing to the screen on the left of the room. An image of the Kremlin, in Moscow, filled the screen. "This is the Kremlin before," Hunley said, and then switched the picture. A tourist cell-phone video played, showing the Kremlin disintegrating into a pile of rubble, black smoke filling the screen as terrified people ran in the opposite direction. "And this is after," he said. He glared at Brandt again, as if daring him to deny it.

Which, Brandt had no problem doing. "I can neither confirm nor deny any details of any such operation without-"

"The approval of the Secretary of the IMF? The same secretary who was involved in a car accident the next evening and whose body has never been found?"

Brandt cringed. He'd been in that car, and knew perfectly well why the Secretary's body wasn't in the vehicle- Ethan had pushed the body out with a road flare in its' hand to draw fire away from them. His body had never been recovered from the Moskva River. "In fact," Hunley said, turning to face Will and placing both hands on either side of him on the table, "until this panel elects his replacement, you really can't say much of anything, can you, Agent Brandt?"

Will met his gaze for the first time. "Well, I didn't write the rules, Mr. Hunley," he pointed out, leaning back in his chair. Get out of my space, you smug bastard.

Hunley eyed him for a moment, and Will held his gaze, crossing his arms over his chest. "Mr. Chairman," Hunley said, turning to face the committee, "the so-called Impossible Mission Force is not only a rogue organization, it is outdated, a throwback to a time with no oversight, and in fact, it's time to dissolve the IMF-"

Will's jaw dropped. Hold up just a goddamned minute! "Mr. Chairman," Will spoke up, sitting up ramrod straight in his chair, but his protest was drowned out by Hunley.

"-and transfer their salvageable assets to the CIA!"

"Mr. Chairman!" Will objected, standing up so fast he almost knocked over his chair. "The IMF has operated without oversight for the past 40 years! Are its' methods unorthodox? Yes." Will recalled his conversation with his brother, and brought up the point. "Are the results less than perfect? Absolutely. But without the IMF-"

The Chairman of the committee held up a hand, and Will stopped talking. The white-haired senator from Oregon motioned for Will to sit down, then continued. "This panel recognizes the IMF's contributions to global security. But the events laid out by CIA Director Hunley show a pattern of wanton disregard for protocol." He leaned forward, clasping his hands together in front of him. "From where I sit, your 'unorthodox' methods are indistinguishable from chance. And your results-"

"Mr. Chairman-" Will spoke up, but the Chairman silenced him with a Look as he kept on.

"-And your results, perfect or not, look suspiciously like luck. I am afraid," he told Will, "that today is the day…the IMF's luck runs out."

Will felt the color drain from his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hunley's satisfied smirk.


"Hunley's an asshole," Clint declared. "He called you outdated?"

"Outdated and without oversight," Will bit into the phone. He was standing out in the marble-tiled hallway of the Capitol, sitting on a bench. He loosened his tie.

"Let's hope he and Pierce never get into it," Clint said. "If you're outdated, imagine what he'd say about SHIELD." There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "I'm sorry, little brother. Looks like I wasn't much help this morning."

"It's not your fault, and you're not half as sorry as I'm going to be," Will replied, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Benji is my next phone call. This'll break his heart."

"You know, you could always come work for SHIELD," Clint reminded him again. "Fury'd love to have people with your team's background. We've got Strike Teams you'd be perfect for."

Will sighed. "Let me worry about this job first before I start worrying about another." His phone beeped, and he glanced at the screen. INCOMING CALL. "Clint, I gotta take this. I'll see you tonight?"

"Yeah. Dibs on top bunk. Later." Clint hung up and Will flicked over to the incoming call. "This is Brandt."

"Go secure."

Will recognized Ethan's voice instantly, and swiped the screen to bring up the secure connection. "Go," he said quickly.

"London Terminal is compromised. Agent in place is down. Requesting immediate extraction." Ethan spoke in a clipped tone, and Will leaned forward, looking around to see if anybody was listening.

"What happened?" he asked.

"A face. Wanted something. Information. Could've killed me but didn't." Ethan's voice held a strange echo. Will wished he was back at the IMF to trace the call to find out where his friend was. He didn't like the sound of what Ethan was telling him, already making a mental note to get someone over to the London terminal posing as a storefront vinyl shop.

"Okay…What do you think that means?" Will's analyst brain was going to work. Guy has the opportunity to kill Ethan but doesn't, instead, wants to pump him for information. Willing to take out the operative at the London record store to get to Ethan. He was so busy thinking he almost missed what Ethan was telling him.

"The Syndicate. It's real."

Will got up and moved off the bench. The Syndicate. The shadowy organization they had been tracking since the end of the Ghost Protocol debacle. Ethan had gotten the phone call practically after Will had left him at the pier in Seattle. Every mission they'd had since Mumbai had been attempts to learn more about the organization. Even the disaster in Honolulu had been an attempt to get information about the Syndicate. The problem was that for all intents and purposes, the Syndicate didn't exist. They were dangerous and they were practically invisible. Will forced himself to keep listening. "They know who we are, how we operate. I think I know why they've been so hard to find. Focus any resources on finding any covert operatives. Doesn't matter what country or agency, just dead or presumed dead."

Resources. About that..."Ethan-" Will tried to cut his team leader off, but Ethan pressed on.

"Start with Janik Vinter. He's also known as the Bone Doctor-"

"Ethan, I can't do that," Will burst out.

There was a pause at the end of the phone. "What?" Ethan's voice sounded in disbelief.

Oh God…"The committee shut us down," Will told his leader. He heard Ethan swear. He tried to ask Will about it, but Will kept talking over him. "Operations were handed over to CIA. There's no more IMF. I've been ordered to bring everyone in," he finished grimly. He took a breath and let it out. "Ethan, I-"

"I understand, Brandt," Ethan said finally, and there was an undercurrent of disappointment. "We didn't have this conversation. You don't know where I am. As far as you know, I disappeared in London."

"Look, Ethan…." Will tried to stay professional, when what he really wanted to do was break down apologizing. "Can you find this man you saw?"

There was finality in Ethan's voice. "I won't stop until I do."

"This may very well be our last mission, Ethan," Will told him. "Make it count."

He didn't realize he was talking to nothing until Ethan didn't respond.

Will pressed his head against the wall and banged his head against it lightly.


"Well, since we're going to be working together, Agent Brandt," Hunley's smooth voice interrupted his pity party, and he reluctantly turned to face his new boss. "I want you to choose your next words carefully," Hunley said. "Where is Hunt?"

Will wondered if he'd heard any of the conversation, decided to bluff. "I don't know."

"Don't lie to me," Hunley threatened.

Shit, well, there goes that. But he decided to stick with it. "I have no way of contacting him. He was deep cover. Last I heard, he was tracking the Syndicate."

"That's bull," Hunley said. "The CIA has never discovered any actual intel regarding this so-called Syndicate."

That's because your so-called intelligence gathering sucks. "What are you implying?" Will asked instead.

"Implying? No, stating. In fact, leveling an accusation." Will raised an eyebrow. Hunley stepped up to him, and this time Will didn't shrink away. "Ethan Hunt is both an arsonist and fireman at the same time. The Syndicate is a figment of his imagination, created to justify the IMF's existence."

Will muttered a choice word in Mandarin. This pompous asshole has no idea…

"I'm going to find him, Brandt, and when I do, he will be called upon to justify every act of wanton mayhem that he is responsible for!" He smirked. "Welcome to the CIA, Agent Brandt." Hunley turned, headed down the hall.

"You'll never find him!" Will called after his retreating figure. It was a small victory, but he needed it after the massive failure that was today.

But today isn't over. He still hadn't talked to Benji, and this was going to break his best friends' heart.

He wondered if his dad's offer to be a drinking buddy was still good.