Ready for the final chapter? Here it comes!

I also want to take this opportunity to thank you all for your feedback throughout this. It's what kept me going. Thank you! :-)

-o-

Chapter 5

When Ethan woke up the next morning, it was a bit like waking from a knockout. He certainly knew what that felt like. The only problem was, he couldn't remember having gotten knocked out. Which, frankly, left him more than a bit confused.

When he came to, the first thing he felt was cold. He realized it was because he was covered with sweat, which was slowly cooling on his skin.

Apparently, he had been nursing a high fever during the night.

A fever which had now broken.

He couldn't remember much from what had happened before he went to sleep. In fact, he wasn't even sure how he got home. What he did know was that, right now, he was feeling…better.

Unconsciously wiping some sweat off his face with one hand as he righted himself on his elbow, he tried to come to grips with what the hell happened to him.

Slowly his memory came back to him.

He had been on a mission. With his team.

He had fallen down a waterfall. And Jesus, that had hurt.

But then…

'Oh yeah...then I came down with something, probably from that damn water.'

Considering how badly he had already felt on the flight home, he assumed the hours after that had been even worse.

It must have been one hell of a night.

As he looked to his left, he saw that fortunately, he was alone.

Glad that he had obviously managed to keep his team from finding out about his temporary condition, he half-turned to his other side to throw a glance at his bedside watch, wanting to check just how long he had slept.

That's when he realized he had obviously not spent the night as alone as he first thought.

There was a neatly set up cup of mint tea on the bedside table, right next to his alarm clock. And there was a note leaning against the cup.

"Good morning. Full breakfast is available in the kitchen. Try the omelet, you could use the protein.

P.S. Don't skirt breakfast; I'll know if you do."

O-kay. He had apparently missed a visitor.

Assuming that this visitor had been one of his team, this only left the question 'which one'?

Frankly, the note could have come from any member of his team. But seeing how subtle the post-scriptum threat was phrased – a definite female trademark – Ethan concluded it was most likely Jane's idea. Besides, her handwriting was a dead give-away.

So, the note came from Jane.

That meant, at some point during the night, Jane had been here.

He couldn't remember any of it.

He tried. For a moment, he really tried. But aside from the feeling that there was something, he couldn't grasp it.

With a frown of acceptance, he concluded that Jane probably dropped him off at his house last night to make sure he was okay. And obviously, once she had seen that he was doing alright on his own, she had left – but not without leaving him that note so he wouldn't skip breakfast once she was gone.

'Leave it to Jane to think of all contingencies,' Ethan smiled ruefully.

Slowly he got to his feet, a bit shaky still, and maybe not completely steady on his own two legs just yet - but feeling a damn sight better than last night, that was for sure. It seemed that even the flu was afraid to stay with Ethan Hunt for long.

But there was one thing he was afraid of, as well.

Crossing Jane.

So he dutifully took the cup from the bedside table, and tasted a sip from the brew as he stood next to his bed. Then, only momentarily aware that he was clad in nothing but his pajama shorts, he crossed the distance from his bed to the bedroom door, and - simply taking the cup along with him - he wandered out of the bedroom and down the hall.

Walking barefoot down the stairs, and with Jane's threat still very much on his mind, he decided to head into the kitchen first.

He wasn't sure how Jane would know, but something told him that she would somehow find out if he skipped that breakfast mentioned in the note.

He almost chuckled at the idea of asking Jane later at the office, just out of curiosity, what she had intended to do to him if he tricked her on this.

But as soon as he stepped into his kitchen, he found himself stopping short. And for a moment, he wasn't sure if he was still dreaming.

There was his team. Making himself a home in his kitchen.

Benji was lounging at the set-up kitchen table, an empty plate before him, but a full glass of orange juice held happily in his hand. Brandt was standing some feet off to Benji's left side, directly in front of Ethan's very own kitchen stove, where Brandt was quite apparently in the process of frying what looked like no less than four omelets.

As Ethan took in the sight, wordlessly – his mouth definitely open, but not finding any words to describe what he was seeing – he felt like he had stepped into the wrong kitchen. This couldn't be his. His was supposed to be empty. Of food. And of people.

But it clearly wasn't.

The point was brought across to him once more, when he felt a sudden tap on the back of his bare shoulder.

"Mind if I step through?" Jane's voice sounded very much amused as she waited for him to half-turn around, until he could see her patiently standing right behind him.

He noticed that Jane's first glance went to the cup in his hand. Then, with what looked like a satisfied smirk at how he hadn't dared to sidestep her 'order', he could see her eyes wander upward, now clearly taking notice of his less-than-normal clothing.

His subsequent squirm kept him from noticing how her appreciative glance was actually a very efficient cover-up to hide what she was really doing - checking his state of health and mind - with the conclusion that he was certainly doing much better than he had last night. When Jane's gaze finally met Ethan's eyes again, he did notice her soft sigh of relief, but – as he stepped aside to let her pass – he put it down to what he thought was her relief about the fact that he was obviously refraining from simply throwing them out of his kitchen.

As he took in the sight of his team now cluttering about his kitchen table like it was the most normal thing in the world, Ethan realized that he had perhaps underestimated his team when it came to his health.

Plus, he also understood now how Jane would have known if he had skipped breakfast.

So, looking at each member of his team individually, he finally spoke with an only half-serious frown.

"Is there any chance I can get you out of my kitchen?"

"Uhm…no?" Brandt smiled right back at him, as he expertly slid the omelets out of the frying pan with a flick of his wrist, one omelet onto each of the four plates.

Accepting defeat when he knew it was staring him right in the eye, Ethan eventually heaved a sigh – and then he grabbed the back of a chair, sliding it out so he could sit down at the table.

Benji used the opportunity to quickly give him an encouraging toast with his glass of orange juice. Jane simply put another fresh cup of tea in front of him before she, too, sat down.

It was then that Ethan knew.

Sure, he might be the toughest and most hard-headed agent the IMF had – but against his own team, those qualities were clearly useless.

Against his team, he did not stand a chance.

But for once, he didn't mind that.

And, as he dug into the large arrangement of food on his plate, he was even willing to admit one other thing:

His team sure knew how to cook.

THE END