"It was hot." Elaine shrugged and tore off a chunk of her sandwich.
"Is that all?"
Elaine started to elaborate, but the sentence got lost in the grilled cheese. Skye chuckled quietly.
"Ethan, stop asking about other people's missions," Luther said strictly. "You're embarrassing yourself."
Hunt just sighed.
Benji laughed. "Give it another week. Lee has to clear you for field work at some point."
"Look whose personal coffee machine ran out of beans again," Luther grinned when Brandt joined them.
"How's Dakar?"
"Ethan," Luther warned.
The analyst sat down at their cafeteria table without any greeting. He slumped into the chair with a blank expression, looking thoroughly finished.
Nobody said anything. Everyone immediately felt the atmosphere shift to serious. Something had happened.
Luther broke the silence. "Who died?"
"Solomon Lane," Brandt said simply.
Benji's fork met the plate with a clang. "Really?"
Ethan suddenly looked pale. "Ilsa?" he just asked, a trace of worry in his voice that he couldn't conceal despite his efforts.
Brandt sighed while he spoke. "Ilsa Faust was actually in a conference with Chief Sudbury of MI6 at the time."
Ethan relaxed visibly. "Good."
Benji spoke up again. "Who did it then?"
"They don't know what happened." It was clear from his tone of voice that Brandt wasn't sure how to feel about this. "But according to the preliminary autopsy report his brain had – disintegrated. Completely. And they don't know how."
Everyone at the table was a bit stunned.
"Disintegrated?" Benji repeated.
"That sounds kinda cool," Elaine said, who seemed to take the news pretty well.
"He's really dead?" Benji asked again. Under the table he felt for Skye's hand. She squeezed it lightly.
Brandt nodded. "Yes."
"Can't say I blame them," Ethan said. "Whoever it was." Somehow the possibility that Lane had died of natural causes didn't seem to be on the table. Also a disintegrated brain wasn't exactly and everyday occurrence.
"A lot of people seem to be thinking the same," Brandt went on. He still sounded like he technically wanted to be happy about the news but couldn't give in to that. "No one seems to be awfully concerned about an investigation so far."
"You mean they're not conducting one?" Skye asked astonished.
"Officially, they are. They looked into their medical staff because the leading physician made up a story about a new paramedic that no one but him saw."
"Mh," Luther said. "Sounds like the case is closed."
"They can't prove anything so far. Seems to me like Sudbury is just taking the necessary steps so that she won't lose face. But no one is very upset."
"I know I'm not," Benji said, and picked up his fork.
/\/\/\/\/\/\
Three more things, and Brandt would be done for today. Not that he was ever done, technically speaking, but now wasn't the time for hair-splitting.
Signing off a mission report - that was dealt with quickly. Authorising a back-up request for the ongoing operation in Dakar... and a high-clearance memo that had ended up on his desk for the lack of secretary. Brandt skimmed over it and wondered if this was worth getting one last cup of coffee today, dimly aware that his relationship with caffeine had drifted into the unhealthy at some point. It was an automated report that came through when someone on a watchlist got arrested, this one from British Intelligence. Brandt frowned. The name of the apprehended sparked something at the back of his head, but even with his exceptional memory he couldn't quite grasp it. Something about a mission, but that must have been a long time ago, before his days as an analyst. He leaned back and flipped the page of the print-out – and when he saw the picture attached to the report every desire for coffee was forgotten.
Brandt didn't waste any time. He checked the time and date of the arrest, then fired up his computer again to check international intelligence reports.
His worst fears were confirmed. Clémentine LaFière, the alias handed out to Skye Holt by the Impossible Mission Force in 2005, had lived up to her name and escaped MI6 five days ago after resurfacing for the first time in years.
"Shit..." the analyst murmured.
Elaine had said Skye had been with her, meaning at the very least she had given her a false alibi, making her an accomplice. Most likely there was more. Disintegrated brain, Jesus Christ, it seemed almost too logical that Elaine had a hand in this. If this ever came out, not only Holt would be on the line for murder, they would get Bray for meddling in unsanctioned missions as well, that much was certain. Disavowed, prison, the whole shebang.
Brandt waited two seconds, surprised by his own decision. Waited to see if he would change his mind. It didn't happen.
He reached to the drawer cabinet to his right, opened the third one from the top, scanned his thumb print and typed in the eight-digit code. The compartment slid open, and he flicked through the thin folder until he found the sheet with the passwords that gave him access – in case of emergencies. In case of extreme security breaches. In case someone needed to disappear.
No one had ever been able to trace Clémentine LaFière over facial recognition, so that Skye wouldn't get into trouble during the time when she wasn't posing as la couchemare.
As of tonight, no one would be able to find her, period, because she had never existed in the first place.
/\/\/\/\/\/\
"So how was Madrid?"
"What do you mean?" Elaine asked. She somewhat-folded her jacket and threw it into the locker in her office.
Brandt loosened his tie. "You know. Your mission. With Skye."
"The report's been on your desk since this morning."
"Can't I just ask?" He started unbuttoning his his shirt.
"William," Elaine said pointedly. "Is there a problem with my report?"
"Not with your report, no," he replied.
"Good," Elaine said and moved closer. "Can we get on with this now?"
Brandt looked into her eyes, frowning for a long time. She held his gaze mercilessly. Finally he sighed, and took off his shirt.
/\/\/\/\/\/\
"If you want to we can watch another episode before we sleep," Skye suggested from the bathroom. When no answer came forward, she frowned. Slowly she went over to the bedroom. "Benji?"
Benji didn't answer. He was asleep.
A smile slowly made its way over Skye's face. She turned off the light, drew the blanket over him, and slipped in on her side of the bed. Careful not to wake him she got closer, just enough to feel him breathing. Slow and deeply relaxed.
"Good night, handsome," she whispered, then closed her eyes herself.