Author's Note: Apologies for the late posting. It is still Monday here, but my daughter was out of school today. We got caught up running errands.

As always, hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Benji stayed in Ephraim for three days, sleeping at the B&B and giving Will a hand with painting. The entire time, he chattered about the "easy life" and "beach living" and how much he wished he had a beach house of his own. When Noelle was at work, the two men discussed the recent breach of the IMF database. But they never talked about Ghost Protocol or the events surrounding it. After all, both of them had witnessed the near end of civilization as they knew it.

Benji wasn't sleeping well. Will saw the signs every morning and didn't say anything. How could he when he'd found a measure of peace by simply ignoring it all? Burying his head in the proverbial sand wasn't any healthier than Benji's method of coping, so he refused to start an argument.

Noelle managed to catch the men at her place on the second day, insisting both of them stay for dinner. Now that she was better prepared—and Will and Benji had worked out their cover story—the evening went well. Noelle found Benji's tales of England amusing, and Will had to admit the Englishman had had a much better upbringing. He'd spent his days terrorizing younger kids while Benji climbed trees, jumped in mud puddles, and played pranks on his brothers. When Noelle asked about his brothers, Benji clammed up, and she took the hint. All three of them had secrets, and they left things at that.

At the end of the night, she stuck out her hand. "Benji, it was a pleasure."

"Likewise." Benji's natural aplomb came to the fore, and he smiled as he slipped a piece of paper into her hand. "You need anything—anything—and Will's not around, call that number. We'll work it out."

Noelle smiled and nodded, pocketing the slip of paper as Will waved over his shoulder. Most of the work at the house was done, so he felt a little like he was saying goodbye as well.

Benji glanced at him as soon as they left the beach house behind. "I like her."

Will rolled his eyes at the insinuation. "We're friends, Benji. Nothing more."

"I know, but. . . ." Benji grinned at him. "I still like her. You could do far worse."

"Are you matchmaking?" Will asked with mock exasperation. "Because I'll remind you that she has no idea what our job entails and is in danger with just friendship between us, let alone anything more."

"There is that." Benji sighed. "I'm heading back out tomorrow. Not that it's been bad or anything, but I need to get back."

"I understand." Will parked in "his" spot at the B&B. "I'll see you in Seattle?"

"Yep." Benji got out of the car and stuck out his hand. "Thanks. For, you know, putting up with me."

Will grinned. "You helped paint the house. I'm not complaining."

Benji nodded and started to leave. Then, he turned. "I gotta say this. I don't know what's between you and Ethan. I don't really care. I know things are tough after Croatia, but you should talk with him. Work it out 'cause you were a big help on this last case." He stood a bit awkwardly and then shrugged. "Just thought you should know."

Will stayed rooted in place as the other IMF agent trotted up the stairs and to his room. At least one person thought he'd helped, though he doubted whether that opinion would hold. Jane hadn't been too happy with him when he'd forced her to admit to being shot, and Ethan. . . .Well, Will's past with Ethan was complicated and heartbreaking.

The rest of the week after Benji's departure passed slowly. Will set about stripping the old paint from the deck in order to get it completed. He had just under three weeks left here, and he wanted the beach house in as good condition as he could get it before then. The last thing he wanted was for Noelle to call him with an emergency.

He also registered the house with a property management company in a nearby town and gave their number to Noelle. She understood, and they wound up sitting silently on her deck as the sun set. Will appreciated the friendship more than she knew and tried to return the favor. But as the time for his departure to Seattle approached, he found himself thinking more and more of Croatia and the events thereafter.

Should he tell Ethan? Or just quietly walk away and disappear back into IMF's offices? He had no problem with sharing that one secret with Ethan, but the timing had to be right. Perhaps, after Jane and Benji had left, he could find the courage to face Ethan's wrath. But the last thing he wanted was an angry explosion. Ethan Hunt wasn't known for losing his temper often, but he usually reacted pretty spectacularly when he did.

Noelle noticed the change. She found him on the back deck, staring over the lake as he again thought about his dilemma, and sat down next to him. "Waiting for rescue from the big bad deck?"

"What?" For just a moment, Will was confused. Then, he blinked. "Oh. No." Shaking his head at himself, he let out a laugh. "Just thinking."

"I noticed." She reached over and took the paintbrush from his hand. "You'll have this finished tonight and we won't be able to sit out here. So, tell me what's on your mind."

He stared at her. She sat comfortably on the deck, her legs tucked to one side as her long blond hair fell over one shoulder. Brown eyes waited patiently for him to explain why he'd been so morose lately, and a playful smile touched her lips. "It's. . .it's complicated."

"Most things usually are."

He blew out a breath. "Have you ever done something that had repercussions with someone else—serious repercussions—that you don't know how to fix?"

She blinked. "I got married," she said dryly. "Or, rather, I got divorced."

Will had to give her credit for the statement. "A few years back, I was on special assignment. With the kind of work I do, I tend to get sent out on investigations and such. Anyway, something went wrong, and a woman got killed. I was responsible. And, just a few weeks ago, I had to work with her husband."

"You said something went wrong. Your fault or out of your control?"

"Out of my control." He shook his head. "But that doesn't matter. I was responsible for everyone's safety during that investigation, and I failed." He set aside the brush with another sigh and stared at the half-painted deck. "I don't have a problem admitting I was responsible. But her husband works with the DoT as well. What happens next time we work together? If he finds out, can we do our jobs the way they should be done?"

Noelle reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Will. Stop overthinking this. Just talk to the guy. He might understand better than you know if he does the same thing you do."

"Yeah." Will rubbed his face and shook away the thoughts. "Sorry. It's just we have this big meeting coming up, and. . . ."

"I understand." She met his eyes. "But I get the feeling you won't tell me much more than what you already have. Otherwise I'd offer to listen."

He held her gaze. "Noelle, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She shrugged. "You work for the federal government. Even if it's related to traffic and transportation, there's probably a lot you can't tell me."

More than you know. He nodded. "Yeah. There is."

"I get that." She glanced at the paint. "But when it bugs you to the point it interrupts whatever you're doing, find someone to talk to. Even if you have to call."

He smiled at that. "I promise," he said softly.

"Good." She stood and snapped her fingers. "Now, back to work!"

Will saluted and finished up the deck. Noelle had fresh iced tea and baked sausage fettuccine waiting for him. He kept his thoughts at bay for the rest of the evening, choosing to focus on the friendship he shared with her. So it wasn't as romantic as he'd worried about when she first rented his house. He was okay with that. His line of work didn't exactly allow for romantic situations, and the ones that formed usually ended up like Hanaway and Jane or Julia and Ethan.

He dreamed of Croatia that night, of failing and witnessing Julia Hunt's death. He woke in a cold sweat, his stomach churning as his mind detailed the reality of what had been done to her. Rushing to the bathroom, he hovered over the toilet as his supper made a reappearance. Then, he took a long shower.

He'd never been given to severe angst, though he did stress over every call he made in the field. Still, his job required the ability to make that call and live with it, so he'd stopped overthinking things after the mission had been handed out. This time, he couldn't. Not when it was the mission that had taken him from the field in the first place.

His last three days in Ephraim were spent doing last-minute chores around the beach house and ignoring the way his stomach tightened each time he thought about meeting Ethan in Seattle. Finally, on his last night, he and Noelle shared dinner and then parted with a friendly smile. She somehow understood he wouldn't appreciate a hug, and he promised to be in touch soon. Then, the next morning, he drove to the airport and climbed onto a plane to Seattle.

This was his life. Moving from place to place, living in secret, making up stories to convince people to tell him things they never had any intention of telling anyone. That was what made a good spy, and he'd been one of the better agents IMF had to offer. . .until Croatia. They already wanted him back as an analyst, and he'd picked up on the hints that the new Secretary had dropped about returning to the field. But he couldn't without talking with Ethan.

Finally, the night of the meet, he arrived at the docks and saw Benji and Jane loitering around. Walking in their direction, he was pleasantly surprised when Jane smiled at him and Benji shook his hand rather enthusiastically. The three of them wound their way through the shops until they spotted Ethan sitting at a table with a big African American. The big man laughed at something Ethan said and then stood in time to be introduced to "the firm of Carter, Dunn, and Brandt." Will felt himself slide easily into the role of "Brandt" and sat down across from Ethan as he let his personal life fade into the background.

Then, Ethan pulled out those phones. Will stared at them, one ear tuned to Benji's comments about no other mission being harder than the one they'd just endured. How wrong he was. Still, once Benji and Jane had picked up their phones and left, Will had nothing to do save walk away.

"Brandt." Ethan's voice stopped him.

Will glanced over. "I'm not picking up that phone, Ethan, because I don't think you want me in the field." He eyed the legendary agent. "I know your wife is dead. I was there in Croatia. I was there for one reason. One. And I failed. It was my job to protect her."

"How do you know she's dead?" Ethan's question and the ensuing conversation changed Will's life. As he learned how Ethan faked his wife's death and discovered the trust that Ethan had placed in him by revealing Julia was still alive, Will found himself unable to do anything but laugh. It's either laugh or cry, and crying's out of the question.

He finally met Ethan's eyes. "When did you find out that I was in Croatia?"

"I pulled your file. After India."

"Right." Will nodded. "So you had to fake your wife's death."

"As long as we were together, she could never be safe," Ethan said regretfully. "It wasn't your job to protect her, Brandt." His gaze moved to a spot behind Brandt. "It's mine."

Will took a moment to think about that, to recognize that Ethan had used present tense in talking about protecting his wife. "Okay." He stuck out his hand. "So, we're good?"

"We're good." Ethan gave him a warm smile as he shook his hand.

Will stood and, after another moment of thought, picked up the phone. He would listen to the mission within the hour, but he still needed a few moments to compose himself and get his head in the right place. He was going back to work in the field, a decision that had been made in a moment because he no longer had a reason to refuse.

Julia Hunt was alive, and he wasn't responsible for her death. The weight he'd carried for years had just been taken from his shoulders, and he found himself breathing easier than he had in a very long time.

oOo

Will's departure was unassuming and friendly. Noelle watched him leave her house that final night, seeing him smile and wave, and knew he'd be back. It wasn't about their friendship or that he owned the house where she lived or anything like that. No, Will needed Ephraim as much as his job needed him. He was committed to his work, and he clearly loved it in spite of the few minor trials he'd shared with her. But, somehow, she'd come to realize that the beach house was as much his refuge as it was her new home.

For the next several days, she went about her business and tried to ignore the slight tinge of sadness every time she arrived home. It had nothing to do with her feelings for Will, though she did care about him. Nor was she worried. She just missed the friendship. Over the last months, her life had become rather solitary, and she desperately needed his friendship as much as he'd needed hers. So, she threw herself into work, chatting with Greta, and in general trying to ignore the silence when Friday came around again.

One Saturday after Will left, Noelle decided to get out of the house again. She drove her van back to the consignment shop where she'd found her bedroom furniture and started browsing for bookshelves. She found several that would have suited her needs, but none of them really called out to her. Then, right as she turned to leave, she saw the perfect shelf: tall and worn with an air of elegance. The price was pretty steep, but she figured she could stand to spend a bit of money on it. After all, the next time she moved would require a truck rather than her van. She wanted to own as much of her furniture as possible so she didn't get stuck renting a fully furnished house—or one with nothing in it.

The bookcase just barely fit in the back of her van, and she was forced to call Axel for help unloading it. Greta tagged along with her husband, bringing out a plate full of snickerdoodles after Noelle let it slip that they were her favorite cookie. Within a few harrowing minutes, the bookshelf had been set in place while Greta cheerfully took over the kitchen to make tea and drag Noelle onto the back deck for a chat.

That night, after her bosses had left, Noelle went to work on the boxes of books that had cluttered the corner of her living room. Will had not mentioned them once except to say he was glad she could use them, and she refrained from worrying about whether it really was okay or not. He likely wouldn't have told her if it wasn't, but those books had been in the attic for years. No one had missed them thus far, and she doubted anyone would want them back now.

She'd already filled several shelves and had started on the second box when she found it. Tucked in between two well-kept Jane Austen novels, the brown leather book was so different from its companions that Noelle was immediately intrigued. The cover was worn smooth from the years, and a faded brown ribbon marked a place near the back. She opened it and began to read.

We're at the lake house again. I've missed it here. The house is small, and the boys have to share a room. But I'm glad we came. I just needed to get away from the city, and Joseph thankfully agreed with me.

Right now, I'm sitting on the back deck while the twins play catch on the beach. There's enough room that I can see them, and I doubt the neighbors have any problems with children. Joseph says they don't, but he's inside finishing up paperwork. It's always paperwork with him, and he says it puts food on the table. I know it does, but I can't help being a bit jealous over my husband's affections.

But now I'm growing maudlin. And I have a meal to cook. I just couldn't wait to enjoy the fresh smell of the lake now that we're finally here. But duty calls, I suppose. And maybe, by the time supper's done, Joseph will be drawn away from his blueprints long enough to regal the boys with a story. Otherwise, they'll be stuck with their mother.

Oh, it's so good to be here.

Noelle blinked. She'd found a journal? Flipping to the front of the book, she read the name. Maryanne Hayes. One of Will's relatives? Maybe his mother? No, he didn't have any siblings, but, if she remembered correctly, his uncles were twins. Could this be his grandmother's journal?

Realizing it was too personal of a book to be reading, she set it aside and continued to stack the books on the shelf. She even went so far as to pick one of the Jane Austen novels that had sandwiched the journal just to get her mind off of the brown leather book. But the little she'd read—a lonely housewife of a bygone era hoping a vacation to the lake would return her husband's affections to her—resonated within her. She tried to push the story away, but it constantly came back to tickle her imagination.

She fell asleep that night picturing herself in that situation. Problem was, the only person she really wanted to fill the role of companion was Will Brandt, and she just couldn't see him as the uninterested type.

oOo

Someone had murdered an IMF analyst. Will watched from the sidelines, his cover as a DoT investigator in place, as forensics went over the crime scene with a fine-toothed comb. Amy Rastenburger had worked a few major cases for the IMF, and her cover was that she was a pencil-pusher for the Department of Transportation.

Will sighed. When he'd picked up the phone that Ethan presented him in Seattle, he'd expected another hair-raising mission on foreign soil. Not something like this.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it. . . . He barely kept himself from snorting. Of course he'd accepted it. The new Secretary knew exactly what he was doing by assigning this mission to him. He'd worked as an analyst long enough to understand their mentality while still maintaining a field agent's ability to do what needed doing. That dichotomy—and his penchant for thinking like an analyst—had caused no small amount of grief in Dubai as he tried to control every aspect of their mission. Now, he figured it was time to reconcile the two sides of William Brandt.

Was this related to the recent breach in IMF's database? Will had no doubt that Benji had been assigned that case. The Englishman had proven his mettle as an agent in India, combining his technical prowess with physical training to stop a nuclear missile. Even now, Will could still hear Benji's relieved babbling as they waited anxiously for news from Ethan. The adrenaline rush of stopping the missile and killing Winstrom had left Benji needing to talk in order to stay awake.

Dragging his mind back to the matter at hand, Will listened to the forensics team and agreed to wait patiently for the results. IMF had taken over jurisdiction, however, and those reports would arrive on Will's desk much sooner than if they'd gone through normal channels.

He sighed as the crime scene emptied. This wasn't a single mission that could be completed inside of a few days. This was an investigation with all the ups and downs of one. Unfortunately, in investigations like this, things stalled out before he found solutions. He was facing a marathon and knew that, if they didn't find a lead soon, it would take another death to further him along. Besides, outside of a relationship gone wrong, why would anyone want to kill a pencil-pusher for the DoT? An analyst for the IMF, however, made a much more enticing target, particularly if said analyst had arranged a mission that angered someone very powerful.

Returning to his Washington, DC cubicle, Will settled behind the desk and proceeded to wipe a layer of dust off of everything there. Someone had arranged his things almost exactly as they'd been before Ghost Protocol. They'd positioned his pens to the right of the desk rather than the left, but he could handle changing that up. Still, except for the dust, it looked like he'd never left even if this was a new office.

After a small bit of rearranging, he called up Amy Rastenburger's file and started going through her life. She'd lived quietly, never once missing a beat when the IMF was disavowed. She'd saved up quite a large amount of money, but Will found nothing that indicated she'd been working for someone other than the IMF. Just careful money management and a single life. He knew what that felt like. Amy handled low to mid-level cases, usually passing her work through a superior or, on one occasion, him to see it turned into a mission. The two exceptions involved cases before Will's time as an analyst. And she had a thing for cats. Not real cats as she was allergic to them, but her apartment and desk were covered with her favorite animal. She'd favored the leopard and jaguar specifically.

With forensics running on her murder scene, Will spent the rest of the week sorting through her cases. Amy hadn't been recalled to active duty after Ghost Protocol simply because she'd been on vacation when it happened. She'd been murdered shortly after returning home. The IMF had learned of her death through local police after one of her neighbors asked for a wellbeing check. Apparently, Amy often visited her elderly neighbors and had missed several check-ins. Whether that was due to traveling or her demise, he couldn't be sure.

It took forty-eight hours for forensics to come back on Amy's murder scene, and Will sat up in his chair as he read it. Not one ounce of forensic evidence was found. There was plenty of blood splatter where she'd been shot, but the bullet had gone through her. Whoever killed her had dug it from the wall and policed his brass. And wiped down the entire place. Not even Amy's fingerprints had been found. The carpet around her body had been brushed, leaving no footprint evidence or any kind of usable trace. And her apartment showed no signs of forced entry. Whoever had killed her had been good enough to charm his—or her—way into the house and never arouse Amy's suspicion.

The phone at his elbow rang, startling him from his thoughts. Will picked it up. "Brandt."

"Um. . .I hope this isn't a bad time." Noelle's voice over the line made him blink at his watch. Yes, he was working on a Saturday, but these sorts of investigations rarely took days off.

"No, it's. . .uh. . .got caught up in a case."

"Oh. Are you okay? I mean. . .never mind." She seemed a little nervous. "I probably shouldn't have called then, but you said to call if I needed anything. And I sort of found something. . . ."

"Noelle." Will smirked. "Or should I call you Francesca?"

A laugh came over the line. "I'll shut up now."

"Good." He sat back in his chair. Ever since the night she'd shared how her ex had felt about her first name, Will had tried to use it only in times of need. Most often than not, it brought a smile to her face. Like now. "What's on your mind?"

"Well, I found a journal." She paused and then continued, "It's small and brown. I think it was your grandmother's."

Will sat up straight. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, the date is back in 1960, and the person references 'Joseph.' Isn't that your grandfather's name?" Noelle asked. Then, she rushed to explain, "Not that I read too much. Just the first entry. But I was curious and. . . ."

"It's okay." He ran a hand over his face. "I probably would have, too. Does it have a name in the front?"

"Maryanne."

"That was Grandma." He glanced around. "Listen, I'm still at work. And I don't know when I can get out there to take a look at it."

"It's sitting here on the shelf." Noelle sounded vaguely curious and a slight bit disappointed. "It can stay where it's at, Will. I just thought you should know, especially given how things went with the family."

"Yeah." He started packing up his belongings and preparing to leave for the day. "I do appreciate it, Noelle. And, as soon as I'm able, I'll make it back out there to take a look."

"Thanks, Will." She was smiling again, and he could hear it. "How are you doing?"

"Okay."

They went on to talk about minor things, like how Greta was doing and whether he liked DC over Ephraim. But anything of real importance got glossed over because, frankly, his life didn't revolve around the beach house anymore. And, as Will hung up the phone, he found himself wishing it did.

~TBC