I don't own it.
Thanks for reading and reviewing! :)
Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation
Three years and a couple of attempted worldwide disasters later, he's back working for Ethan Hunt, the crazy man who never has more than half a plan.
IMF agent William Brandt (here: Virginia, 2015) is undercover this time, which is a major coincidence, honestly, since it means he can work on several jobs at once. Officially, it's another office job. He gets to wear the suits again. This time he spruces them up with natty waistcoats, rolls his shirt sleeves to the elbow, uses his glasses when he wants to. It all adds to the image.
He sends a photo to a blocked number once, in a spare five minutes when he's absolutely sure he's safe and unobserved and he can afford to let the mask drop.
The reaction leaves him grinning for days.
He gets a dozen jobs done for Command in the space of six short weeks, and then another handful in the next five months. Both sides think he's busy maintaining his cover for the other guys, and neither of them stop to think that maybe there are more than two players on his game board, and that maybe this isn't so much Chess as it is Settlers of Catan.
He's always loved that game.
Brandt is mostly in the background, which makes a nice change. It's a lot of paperwork and toadying up and bureaucracy, which isn't so nice, but he's never been one to miss a chance at brushing up on his polygraph skills.
And, miracle of miracles, Ethan actually tells him slightly more than half of the plan this time. Okay, it's not much more than half. Maybe 52%. He'll take what he can get.
Brandt spends months in neat suits, pressed shirts and sharp waistcoats, and he loves it. He wouldn't want to wear them all the time. Kevlar's fine when he needs it, leather jackets are great, jeans and a flannel shirt are super. But when the occasion calls for it… yeah. The suits are fantastic.
Double-crosses and triple-crosses happen, as they do. He's not often on the receiving end, which he has to admit feels pretty good. He only likes surprises when he's the one springing them.
He does spring them. He springs them hard.
And laughs about it afterward, so much that he nearly falls off his chair.
Sometimes he loves his job.
When Solomon Lane is dead, Brandt flies home under another name and finds a new wardrobe full of clothes waiting for him. Every suit he's worn in the last seven months, and then some.
Even the shoes are there.
He still doesn't know the designer's name.