OH. MY SHITE. I am so sorry this took so long, but I promise I'm still here and still writing! School is just a GIANT BALL OF TIME CONSUMPTION that, while for good purpose, leaves me very little time to write. But here it is! Again, I'm sorry I take so long to update, but they will keep coming, I promise. :) Thanks so much for your encouraging reviews. I love you guys.

And yeah yeah, I don't own the Mission Impossible franchise or any references to any other fandoms that may appear here.

Enjoy!

Chapter Six– Walter

For the first time in his life, Benji didn't want to be in London.

Which was odd, because it was basically home. Though he'd been born in Manchester and his family still resided there, after middle school Benji had spent nearly all of his time in the capitol city. He'd hated high school up north, so after freshman year he'd transferred to London and lived with his uncle all the way to college before moving to America to complete his education, where his hacking skills were detected by the IMF. (Well, detected may be a bit generous. He'd rather put himself out there. No one could ever prove he'd broken into the CIA database that one time, but afterwards when black-suited officials showed up with a contract instead of handcuffs, he knew exactly why.) Though he lived in the US now, he visited his homeland anytime he could, and London was one of his favorite places to be.

But this time, as they touched down in Heathrow around midnight after a six-hour flight, all he could think about was Ethan's last mission.

Was London the last city he ever saw? Would the same go for them?

Benji swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed away his worry. He stood, pulled his gearbag from the overhead compartment, and filed into the crowded aisle. He glanced back to see Brandt a few people behind him. The analyst caught his eye for a second and looked away just as quickly. For now, they did not know each other.

Customs and baggage claim went by in a familiar blur. The three of them met at the exit. Brandt was carrying the large duffle bag that contained their weapons; the clerk at the checked baggage area had blanched when he opened it after it failed to clear the x-ray machine, but after some badge-waving and a favor call to Luther it came through.

The three of them faced each other, the knowledge of what they had to do heavy among them.

"So what's the plan?" asked Benji plainly. "I mean, we don't really know what we're up against here. Where are we looking to start?"

Brandt grimaced. "I'm not sure, honestly. Usually it's Ethan coming up with the crazy ideas."

Jane rolled her eyes. "You two are hopeless. Don't you remember that the mission Ethan was on here was a collaboration with MI6? That's where we start."

"So what, we're just going to waltz into the British Secret Service and ask them for the details?" asked Benji. "It doesn't really work like that, Jane."

A terrifying scowl appeared on Jane's face. Benji swallowed. "Of course that's not what I meant. No, we need to hack into the MI6 database and look for more details on that mission." She hefted her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. "But first we need a place to stay. We're not going to get anything done tonight. Benji, do you know anywhere defendable? We don't know who may be coming after us."

Benji thought. "My Uncle Walter's flat," he decided. "Third floor, balcony, security cameras on the ground floor I could tap into. And my uncle was an agent himself back in the day. He won't ask questions."

"Perfect." Brandt lifted his own bag. "Lead on, London man."

A half hour and one ramped cab ride later and they reached the flat complex.

He hadn't visited in over a year, and seeing it now made him feel surprisingly nostalgic. He could suddenly recall his memories of spending high school here, sharing dinner with his uncle at their small kitchen table, doing homework near the little window in his room that looked out over the road, sneaking onto the roof after midnight to look for stars that were not there. A lump rose in his throat.

"You two stay out here," he said when they reached the stairs inside. "I'll go up and explain things to him. Better if I do it."

"Benji," said Brandt, "are you sure this is a good idea? You said he was ex-service. Some of the retirees in our line of business don't always take well to having the old days show up on their doorsteps, y'know?" Oh, Benji knew. Just look at Ethan a few years ago. One night he's celebrating his engagement party, a week later his wife is kidnapped and he's chained to a chair about to be interrogated by an internationally-dealing sociopath. It was too risky for most to even come close to the business after severing ties with it.

But his uncle wasn't like that. He never had been. "Trust me," said Benji. "He'll be fine with it. I'll be right back." He dropped his bag and started going up the stairs two at a time.

He reached the second floor, then the third. The feeling of nostalgia increased. This was one of the few places he'd ever really called home. He'd figured out a long time ago that a home isn't about the place as much as it's about the people. He'd always felt out of place growing up in Manchester, though he was still relatively close to his parents and went up often to visit his sister. But somehow, this small, shambling flat in the upper end of London was the only place to which he'd ever really felt connected.

He reached the door, number 313. He breathed out and knocked twice.

Ten seconds later, the door opened, and Benji found himself looking into blue eyes identical to his. For a moment he could not speak; he suddenly felt very young again as he stared at his uncle.

Walter looked the same as he ever did: steely hair sweeping back from his forehead, his face pale but healthy, his frame, leaner with age but just as powerful as it was in his agent days, cloaked in a T-shirt and worn flannel pants. His feet were bare, one a metal prosthesis, the only reminder of why Agent Walter Dunn, one of the best field hackers in the business, had been honorably discharged from MI6 at the age of thirty. But he still carried himself with the pride and dignity Benji had looked up to for years.

"Benji?" His uncle stepped out slightly. "What…?"

"Hi, Uncle Walter," Benji finally said. "I…" All at once he had no idea what to say. He hadn't seen his uncle in over a year, hadn't written or called. "It's really good to see you," he finished lamely.

Walter smiled, that gentle, understanding smile that had always made Benji feel safe, and suddenly tears were spilling over his cheeks. The stress of the week, the loneliness and grief at having lost one of his only friends…in the presence of his uncle the dam holding at all back broke. Walter said nothing, just pulled his nephew into an embrace and let Benji sob it out.

A minute later, Benji's bottled his emotions again, relieved that the gut-wrenching pain that had been clawing at his soul for the last two days had faded a little. He pulled back and wiped his eyes, but he didn't feel embarrassed. He never had here.

Walter handed him a handkerchief. "So, care to tell me what this is about, son?" he asked as Benji cleaned himself up with the kerchief.

He let out a shaky breath. "Yeah, sorry, just…" He grasped for words. Where to begin?

"Long week?" asked Walter. Benji nodded mutely. Even after more than a year apart and the fact that Benji wasn't a teenager anymore, his uncle still read him like an open book. He saw his eyes darken as he took in the bags under Benji's eyes, the slump in his shoulders.

"Are you in trouble?" Walter asked lowly. Benji knew what he really meant: Are you being followed? Is someone coming?

"Not yet," said Benji. "But I think I will be soon." He looked up into Walter's eyes; the retiree still had a few inches on him. "I need a place to stay, Uncle… but…." Benji bit his lip.

Walter's face opened in understanding. "I see. You're not just here to visit, are you?"

Benji looked down. "No."

Walter's brow furrowed. "Is it sanctioned?"

"Not exactly." Benji bit his lip again. "Call it an independent mission. I understand if you don't want to get involved."

Walter 's eyes took on a glint. "Don't forget who you're talking to, sprout. Go and get your agent friends. I'll make tea, and then you had better inform me of the details."

Benji felt the grin stretch over his face even as he turned to hurry back down the stairwell. A thought stopped him. "How did you know about my friends, Uncle?"

The retired hacker barked a laugh as he went back inside. "Benji. I'm insulted, dear boy. Do you really think I wouldn't have my own tap on the security feed in this pile?" He laughed again and closed the door.

Warmth spread through Benji's chest. His uncle hadn't changed at all.

()()()()

"A bomb?" asked Walter. "And what makes you all so sure your friend survived?"

The four were sitting at the miniscule kitchen table, its shaky legs threatening to collapse under the weight of Brandt and Benji's elbows, Jane's hands, and four mugs and the teapot that was just as voluminous as Benji remembered. The sweet aroma of Earl Grey and honey curled through the darkened kitchen as the three agents told Walter what had happened.

Jane took a careful sip. "So far, no bodies have been recovered."

Walter raised a pale eyebrow. "And yet there was almost nothing left of the plane. Forgive my bluntness, but I don't understand why you think he made it out of there. "

Benji grimaced. Like they hadn't thought of this already. "Uncle, you're going to have to take our word on this one, I'm afraid. Ethan Hunt…" How could he even describe Ethan? You ever watch Batman, Uncle Walter?

"He's a singularly gifted agent," Brandt picked up. "He's come out of situations so statistically fatal I'm beginning to think he's immortal. If anyone could survive a fiery plane crash into the ocean, it's Ethan."

"Mr. Dunn," Jane said. "He took down Owen Davian six years ago. Even retired as you are, I'm sure you heard about that."

Recognition dawned on Walter's lean face. "Ah. I see. Your friend Ethan's reputation proceeds him. I do remember hearing from a friend of mine about a certain IMF operative bringing down Davian in Shanghai." Walter scoffed a grin. "I hope I get to meet this man. I went a few rounds with that bastard Davian myself right when he was starting–independently of course. He was a powerful man, and a truly evil one. Anyone who could best him has garnered my respect." Walter took a long draught of his tea before looking up at each of them. "And you think your friend Mr. Hunt was targeted. With his history, I could certainly understand why. But do you have any idea by whom?"

Benji shook his head. "None. We came to London for answers."

"We're thinking whoever did it will come to us," Brandt continued. "We've been working with Ethan for over a year. If someone's gunning for him, it's reasonable to assume they'll be after us next. We're hoping to figure who they are and get one step ahead before they reach us." He rubbed a hand over his crew cut, his blue eyes dark with worry and thought.

"Well, you did the right thing by coming here, Benji," Walter said as he rose and collected the now-empty mugs and placed them in the sink. Benji stood automatically and brought the teapot over to the counter, falling into a familiar formation beside his uncle. He started washing the dishes as Walter returned to his seat. "I've got a live feed running in my study day and night of the security cameras on each floor. We'll take shifts through tonight and monitor them. If anyone undesirable shows up, we'll know."

"Is there any way off this floor besides the stairwell?" asked Jane.

Benji could hear the wry glee in Walter's voice. "As I'm sure you know, Miss Carter, one of two things happens to a retiree agent. One, you drink yourself to death, or two, you end up making your neighbors wonder if you're utterly, madly paranoid. Leave those dishes, Benji. I want to give you all the grand tour."

Walter led them through the apartment. Benji found himself not even needing to think about where his feet were falling. His muscles remembered every inch of this place, every turn in the hallways, the placement of every door and room. He followed up Jane and Brandt, his fingers trailing absently on the walls, still dotted here and there with photos of Benji's mother or of a younger Benji himself, mostly with his sister or Walter. Benji peered at his rounded, acne-ridden face in one and couldn't help grinning. It was incredible what fifteen years could change about someone.

Walter paused in the middle of the hallway. The agents gathered around as he reached up and pulled down an attic ladder. "I had this installed after the Kremlin was bombed last year. Which, yes, I know you four had something to do with," Walter stated over Benji's protests. "Either way, I needed a faster way out. Climb that ladder, stand up and you'll find a double-trapdoor straight onto the roof. And if I, an old man, can find my way down from there, I'm sure you spry young things shall be able to do the same." He yanked the cord, and the pseudo-attic closed. "There's also an armory down here," he said, leading them further down the hall, toward where Benji's room was. He opened a linen closet and flicked on the light.

Benji stared. Walter had been holding out on him. The closet walls were lined with at least two dozen guns of various size and power. Boxes of ammunition were stacked on the small shelves. Padded tubs of grenades covered the floor. A small metal tin amongst the ammo boxes caught Benji's eye. He leaned forward and opened it to find a pile of fake IDs, along with Walter's passport and thick wads of hundred-pound notes and hundred-dollar bills.

Brandt blew out a breath. "Once an agent, always an agent, I suppose," he said, a note of awe in his voice. "You have quite the ditch kit, Mr. Dunn."

"Well, you never know what might happen," said Walter. He clicked off the light and shut the door. "I wish I had a bunker, but no such luck. The super did not take kindly to my proposal of digging under the building." The agents chuckled.

"It's late," he continued, turning to Brandt and Jane. "Why don't you two get some sleep. Benji and I will take the first watch on the cameras. If anyone shows up down below we don't like the look of, we'll wake you. Sleep with your clothes on in case we need to bail out in a timely fashion."

"Thank you again, Mr. Dunn," said Jane sincerely. "We really appreciate this. We know how much you're risking by helping us."

"'Oh, please, call me Walter," said Benji's uncle. A gleam came into his eye. "And you said it, Mr. Brandt. 'Once an agent, always an agent.' Those guns have been collecting dust for far too long. It's about time we had a little excitement around here." Benji couldn't help but grin.

"You can take Benji's old room; there are twin beds in there. Last door on the left. We'll wake you at four. When it's light we can start looking for those answers of yours." Brandt and Jane nodded their thanks again and went down the hallway, their exhaustion clear to Benji in their slumped shoulders and tired walks.

"They have good hearts, those two," Walter said as they made their way back to the study. "You all do. I've never seen a team so dedicated. You watch one another's backs. It's good to see."

Benji rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, hunting down a nuclear criminal and seeing New York be almost completely annihilated tends to bring people together."

"And Ethan is your leader?" asked Walter.

Benji nodded. "He's by far the most experienced of us. And he's good at it. Calm, y'know?"

"I do know," said Walter. "My leader was much the same." He opened the door to the study. Blue light flooded Benji's eyes, and he squinted momentarily before the room came into focus. The study was smallish, just a side room that had probably been a large closet once. Three long desks had been shoved together to make a c-shaped ring with a space in the middle for a chair to roll around in, and four separate computers of varying age and model were open on the desks. Each projected two frames of CCTV feed, covering different points of the apartment complex. Benji immediately identified the stairwell where he'd told Benji and Jane to wait. He smiled to himself. Walter knew everything.

Walter sat down in the rolling chair in the middle with a long sigh. Taking the hint, Benji fetched a chair from the kitchen, dragged it in, and sat down next to his uncle. He leaned back comfortably, eyes scanning over the screens.

"So," said Walter after a time. "How's it been this past year?"

Benji sighed. "It's been rough," he admitted. "Rougher than I thought I could handle. After the Cobalt mission especially."

"Nightmares?"

Benji nodded. "I didn't really sleep for about a month. It got better, but…"

"Still hard to swallow," Walter finished. His uncle sounded thoughtful. "Y'know, after '81, I didn't sleep at all. I didn't do much of anything, really. Just stared at the wall half the time. You know who got me out of it?"

Benji shook his head. Walter never talked much about it.

"It was your mother," said Walter. Benji looked over in surprise. His uncle's eyes were clouded with memory. "Mm-hmm. Everyone else had tried to snap me out of it–my team leader, my mates, even the head of my former department at the time. But in the end it was your mum. She came down here and booted my arse off the floor before almost carrying me out the door and chucking me in her car. She then proceeded to drive me out to dinner, get me just a little drunk, and tell me six ways to Sunday how she was not going to let her big brother dig himself down to death. She lived with me for over a year. That was when we got the prosthesis, old Bendy here"–Walter tapped his artificial leg– "and she got me back into shape. She suggested I start doing work from home. Take side contracts and the like. Thirteen years later, you came along, and suddenly there was a real point to my life again." A look akin to guilt clouded his face. "You know, she blames me for getting you into the business."

Benji winced. He could quite clearly recall his mother's rage upon hearing her son intended to become an agent. Although, he remembered her being more angry about the fact that he was going overseas to work for "those bloody Americans."

"She was different back then, your mum," Walter continued. "Not as bitter as she is now. She was just as stubborn, though. I suppose I did rather get you into the business, though, didn't I?" Benji half-smiled. His mother did have Walter to blame. After Walter caught Benji at his computer one night bypassing a firewall for an online game, he started to feed his nephew's hacking fire. Benji was already good. Really good. Walter was better. And he taught him every trick in the book about routing codes, finding passwords, every little chink in the digital armor. When the Internet boomed in the late nineties, the two of them were boys in a candy shop. They spent every night surfing, seeking, hacking and cracking the beautiful new battleground behind the screen. By the time Benji joined IMF, there was not one piece of online information he could not get, not a single firewall the agency threw at him that he could not penetrate. Benji knew he was one of the best they had, and he was desperate to follow in his Uncle's footsteps and become a field agent. There was just the whole fitness test thing. It took him a few tries, but finally he was out there, doing what he knew he was supposed to do. Too bad his first mission was Cobalt.

"Yeah," Benji said at length. "But I don't regret it. I'll never blame you for it, Uncle, even after all the insanity I've seen in the last year. I wouldn't trade it for any other job."

"I hope a day won't come when you rescind those words, Benji," Walter said gravely. "This line of work changes people. It changed me in more ways than one. You have good people with you. Hold onto them. Protect them with your life. Keeping friends is hard as an agent. Losing them is far, far worse." Benji winced, hearing the grief in his Uncle's voice, remembering the story of the bomb that, in '81, took his leg–and half his team.

Walter half-turned so he was looking into Benji's eyes. "You will find your friend," he said. "After all you've told me, I truly believe he is still alive. You will find the people responsible for this. You will fight them, and you will win."

Benji felt his throat closing again. "How can you be so sure?" he whispered. "After everything…"

"Everything was yesterday," said Walter fiercely. "And yesterday is dead and gone. You have to move forward, Benji."

"I know," said Benji, hating the weakness in his voice but at once not caring. "I know. But I'm scared, Uncle. I'm scared of what might happen."

Walter sighed, leaning back in the swivel chair and gnawing on his bottom lip much like Benji did when he was deep in thought.

After a time, he said, "This business makes people cold, Benji. It takes away their hope, their sense of humanity. But you're not like that yet, and I never want you to be. Hold onto your friends. Keep them close. If you four are together, you'll save one another. I truly believe that. Sometimes belief is all you have that keeps you going. Belief in yourself, in each other, in whatever you choose. Just believe in something. "

Benji just nodded silently.

Walter looked back at the screens. "What do you believe in, Benji?"

Benji's soul felt heavy. "I don't know anymore, Uncle."

"Well, I'm not a religious man, as you know," said Walter. "But there is one thing that has stuck with me all these years. I was sitting in a bar with my team leader, right after I passed the field exam. I was telling her how scared I was, even though I chose this path. She told me that as long as I held onto hope, I could get out of any situation. She said when she let go of hope, life would no longer be worth living. She kept a picture in her wallet of her little girl. She was fourteen, had cancer but was still fighting. Last I heard she was in remission. But during that time she could have died any day. My leader kept her picture to remind her why this was her job, who she had to protect. If her daughter could hold onto life, onto hope, so could she, no matter how bad things got. Now I do the same thing. When you feel lost, Benji, I want you to think about your team. Think about the people you love, the people for whom you hold onto hope. Think of your family, your home with them. Think about why you keep going. When you have nothing else to believe in, believe in that."

Benji felt some of the blackness on his soul lessen as Walter's words glowed into his heart. A random question popped into his head that somehow felt important. "What was her daughter's name?" he asked.

Walter smiled distantly. "Sedona."

A beeping came from the computer on Benji's right, and the reverie was shattered. He pushed back his gloom and focused in on the screen. It showed the stairwell where they had first come in.

Benji felt the blood drain from his face. "Shit."

"What is it?" asked Walter, turning to the same screen.

"They're here."