A/N: This is a mile stone for me. It's the longest chapter I've written. Plus, the first time I write a curse word. Never have done it before. Ever! *Deep breath*
Anyway, here's the rewritten chapter. Sorry in advance for any mistakes. Tell me, and I'll fix them.
(Disclaimer: I do not own the Mission Impossible franchise or any of its characters.)
Levin was lying on the bed, on her back, staring at the wall. She had got on a plane a few hours earlier, and managed to find a decent motel to stay in. After walking around the city for a few hours, she decided to come back to the hotel. She laid, thinking over the past 24 hours.
She had called Assistant Archivist Tarrance, who basically does everything she can't and fills in for her when she can't be there, in the morning. Nice guy with a wife and kids; he was never cut out for fieldwork. Levin enjoyed messing with him and pushing his buttons. He had informed her that the Secretary had planned everything. In fact, the entire office knew, according to Tarrance. Levin was on leave; the reason was on a need to know basis. Tarrance would fulfill all of her duties.
Levin laughed just thinking about it. "Son of a bitch," she said aloud.
She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. It's almost time, thought Levin.
"Sir, where are we going?" questioned William Brandt, the IMF's Chief Analyst.
"We are making a small detour to pick up a friend," answered the Secretary.
Both men were in a black van with a driver at the wheel. Brandt had expected to directly go to pick up Ethan Hunt, but the Secretary had other ideas.
"Where exactly is this, um, detour? And who is this friend?" asked Brandt.
"You'll see when we get there. Now stop with the questions," responded the Secretary.
Brandt stayed quiet afterwards. He just looked out the window.
The van came to a stop. It had stopped in front of what looked like an abandoned office building. The shadow of a female figure neared the van. The door to Brandt's left side opened and a woman entered the vehicle.
"Secretary, you wanted to see me," said the woman as she sat at the seat across from Brandt. The woman had auburn colored hair color with tan skin and brown eyes. Her straight hair went just below the shoulders.
Brandt's eyes and the woman's met. Realization hit, and both of their eyes widened.
Agent Levin walked down the halls of the IMF Headquarters. She was preparing for her next mission. She was meeting up with -
She saw him. A man she never saw before, with brown hair and blue eyes. He was just sitting there; looking at the air. His mind was clearly somewhere else. A straight face on, but eyes that spoke another story. Pain. Regret. Guilt.
There's still plenty of time before the mission, thought Levin.
She walked up to him, a complete stranger. "Um, hey. Is this seat taken?" Levin gestured to the chair next to him.
Barely registering the question, the stranger simply nodded.
Levin sat down. She too looked forward. She had no idea what to do in this situation, never having the need to. Just say it. "What's wrong?"
The blue-eyed stranger's head snapped to her.
"It's not my place. You don't have to say anything. It's just," Levin sighed, "it looked like you needed someone to talk to. Someone unknown without any prior judgement."
She would have continued, but he spoke. "It's fine, and you're right."
"What happened?" She fully turned to face him.
"Just got back from a mission, where I had the chance to prevent something terrible from happening. I didn't take it," he said, looking down.
"Mistakes happen," Levin said gently. It was clear to her that this man needed comfort, and she was there to help. This was her mission.
"It just wasn't a mistake," the man snapped. "It was much more. I would tell you, but it's -"
"Classified," she finished for him. "I understand."
"I'm sorry for snapping. You're here listening to me. Probably on your way to a mission, and I've gotten in the way. It's just been so tough. Been thinking about quitting."
"It can wait. Right now, I'm here with you," she said, looking into his blue eyes. His beautiful eyes, thought Levin. "And nice observation, along with the interpretation. Maybe you can become an analyst." So, I can see you around.
"Yeah, maybe."
There was a silence. It wasn't awkward; it was warm, in a comforting strangers looking at each other.
"I might as well tell you. I was shadowing a couple, husband and wife. We had intel that said that someone was going after them; it wasn't anything we couldn't handle. I had this feeling that I should say something, somehow." He paused. The female stranger was looking at him, patiently. Eyes full of warmth. He continued. "The husband was going out for a jog. I followed him, and I left three men.
"Came back, my men and the wife are dead. I might had been to change, but I didn't. It's all my fault." Blue-eyed stranger's head dropped.
Levin was in a mild shock. He seriously just told me all of that. But above, she wasn't exactly sure how to proceed in this type of situation. "I have no words. Yeah, you could have done something, put you didn't. Maybe it is your fault."
His head rose, with a small smile. "This is supposed to make me feel better."
"I said you needed someone to talk to. Anyway, my point is yeah, you could have prevented. You can't change the past. It's not matter of how much you can feel sorry you can feel about yourself, it's about moving on. You can't be stuck in the past. Here's is the present." Levin lightly hit the arm of the chair with her hand. "And more importantly, there is the future." She touched his chest, where is his heart would be.
Brown-haired stranger's eyes fell to her hand.
Levin reluctantly removed her hand. Don't need this to get awkward.
"I never told you my name. It's -" the stranger began.
Levin held her hand up, signalling stop. "I never asked. I said that you needed someone with no prior judgement. Best to remain strangers,"
Levin glanced down to her watch. Oh, shit. "I've got to go. I agreed to meet up with someone, and I need to go to a mission." She stood. How time flies.
"I understand, and thanks for everything."
"You're welcome." She began to walk. She stopped and glanced back. "Good luck with things."
She continued to walk. Don't expect to see him again, Piper.
Time passes and things are never how we expect them to be.
There she was. Sitting there with her head in her hands, crying. Unconsciously choosing the spot they had been in a couple of months back.
Analyst William Brandt was going to meet up with the Secretary. But then he saw her, in the same spot he had been in.
Brandt had taken her suggestion. Instead of quitting the IMF all together, he just stopped doing fieldwork. He became an analyst, and he was a damn good one.
The Secretary can wait. He walked up to her. "Is this seat taken?" He remembered the brown-eyed stranger's first words to him.
She looked up. Her eyes were red and puffy. Any doubt was clear, because she has definitely been crying. She tried to wipe her eyes with her hand once she recognized him. "No, not at all."
Brandt took the invitation to sit down. He checked his pockets to find a napkin. How did that get there? Handing it to her, "Here. You look like you really need it."
It was time to repay a favor, stranger or not.
She took it. "I've recently lost someone. He was really close, and I just don't know how to deal with it." She was dabbing the napkin into her eyes.
"I know how it is to lose someone. It must be difficult."
"I've lost people, too. It's just that," she paused, "that it's never been because of me. There is no 'I could've prevented this'. I am to blame." Tears began to flow from her brown eyes,
Brandt empathized with this woman. He was there once. He still kind of is. He didn't want anyone else there.
"Hey, hey. No tears." He took the napkin back. He wiped the tears himself.
The moment became close, intimate almost. As he was finishing, the stranger said thanks with a small smile. At the same time, wondering to what happened to not getting close.
"As you once said, you need someone to talk to, someone with no prior judgement. So, talk to me."
So, she talked. The words that she had never said before. The truth. Full of faults. One mistake. The end result was his death. A death that could never be forgotten, and never forgiven. A death of someone so close to her.
"I wish I had something to say. There is no looking past it. He died. Would he want self-pity from yourself? It seems to me, having never meet him, he would want what's best for you; which is moving past his death. You just can't sit around. Continue your life, despite how hard it may be without him."
She let out a small laugh. He raised an eyebrow, not understanding what was funny. Here he was, giving excellent advice, and she's laughing.
Once she calmed down, a smile remaining, she answered, "Do you know the chance of us meeting again? And in this particular situation? One in a thousand, maybe one in a million. To be in this same spot, and for you to just be happening to be passing through this exact hallway. Unlikely."
"Maybe you can be an archivist. You seem to be good with information." He remembered her suggestion.
"I'm pretty good in getting information, too, if I say so myself." Things had become playful, teasing. That sour tone was gone. She looked at him. She saw a suit, not the type of clothing one would wear on a mission. "I see you took my suggestion." The amber-haired stranger gestured to his clothing.
"I did. Pretty good at it." Brandt leaned back and threw his arms behind his head, making him look egotistical. "Thank you for the suggestion." He withdrew his arms. He looked into the stranger's cheerful brown eyes. At the same time, he saw pain and sorrow; a reflection of himself.
"You're welcome," she said softly.
Brandt's internal clock was ticking. He knew he was late. He knew his time was up. The brown-eyed, amber-haired stranger was to remain unnamed, and forgotten.
"I have to go," he said reluctantly. His hand was in a fist, with his thumb pointing back. Brandt stood up slowly. "Do take my suggestion." Maybe I'll see you around were his unsaid words, that she never heard.
He walked down the hall, no looking back. Brandt had learned that she had been right. There is no changing the past; there was no point looking bad. But he still lived with the guilt.
"I see you two have met," the Secretary smiled.