Chapter 2

Benji Dunn, as Ethan soon learned, was a force to be reckoned with.

Ethan had done his research beforehand, but there was only so much you could learn about a secret agent before the government started knocking on your door. He preferred for his dwellings to stay a secret, thank you very much. What he didn't find in his research was Dunn's penchant for death-defying stunts. Said stunt was parachuting into Paris.

"Are you sure this is safe?" he asked as Dunn clipped him in. The spy dared to shrug at him.

"As long as you deploy your parachute when you're told to, you'll be fine."

"And if I don't?"

"Well, it was nice knowing you, mate," he said with a smile. Ethan just frowned.

"Not funny."

"Ah, but you know you want to laugh anyways," he chirped, tightening a loose strap on Ethan's chute. Ethan just shook his head, walking away from Dunn and trying to clear his head. He had never jumped out of an airplane before-- the last contract he had was in bumfuck nowhere, Indiana, taking out some cartoonish oil baron. It was as easy as sneaking into his house and snapping his neck. Sure, Ethan was an assassin, but he had never done the crazy things the IMF agent seemed to think was just another Tuesday.

"So, what's the plan again?" Ethan asked, trying to sound casual.

"We have the plutonium from the meeting, now all we have to do is lure out the White Widow. We learned that she had a meeting set up with John Lark following the acquisition of three plutonium cores--"

That piqued Ethan's interest. "So you have them now?"

Dunn made a confused face. "Didn't they brief you on this?"

Ethan shrugged. "Only the very basics."

Dunn looked at him suspiciously but carried on. "I've got them," he said, patting his backpack, "and we're going to use them to lure the White Widow out and get information on Lark from her. Hopefully, she will lead us directly to him."

The rest of Dunn's words went over Ethan's head. Dunn was in possession of the cores now. It would be so simple to just pull his gun right now and shoot him, but something stopped him. It didn't feel like the right moment, some little voice in his head telling him no. Perhaps when they were in Paris, Ethan could find a way to slit his throat. Maybe the White Widow would help him.

"Alright," Ethan said, pushing away plans of killing Dunn for the moment. Even if Dunn didn't like him, Ethan couldn't help but admit that the man was attractive. Blond hair that he wouldn't mind running his hands through stuck to his forehead as he strapped himself up in preparation for the jump. He was kind on top of that, assisting Ethan even when he didn't have to.

"Are you ready for the jump?" Dunn asked, giving Ethan a smile from behind his helmet.

"As ready as I can be," he muttered as Dunn opened the door they'd be jumping out of. The wind rushed past them and Ethan felt his heartbeat speed up as he looked a few thousand feet down at Paris underneath him.

"No time like the present," Dunn said, smiling, and fell backward out of the plane.

"Fuck," Ethan muttered as he grabbed onto the sides of the door. A deep breath, a step forward, and he was falling through the night sky.

--

It turned out that infiltrating a Paris nightclub was easier than it looked. They stole wristbands to get into the party that the White Widow was hosting, Dunn looking completely at ease while he did it. It seemed to be second nature to him, being a spy, going smoothly through all the steps Ethan stumbled through.

"Split up when I give you the signal," Dunn muttered as they entered the party. A woman with glowing blonde hair stood in the middle giving a speech-- the White Widow. There was a man at her side that looked vaguely like her, perhaps her brother. Or boyfriend, Ethan wasn't a very good judge at these kinds of things. All he knew was that he was in foreign territory, holding onto Dunn like a lifeline. "I'll go for her, you make sure no one disrupts us."

"Can do," Ethan said, hoping his voice wasn't shaking. He was a damned assassin, he should be able to handle this.

"Now," Dunn whispered, splitting from Ethan as if he didn't even know him. The woman finished her speech and went for the bar, Dunn following her. Ethan positioned himself by a door, scanning the room for any threats. There were a few men carrying guns just based on their gait, but Ethan didn't see any threats. That was until he felt a presence at his side.

"We know you have the cores," the man who was standing next to the White Widow mumbled in his ear. "Give me them and nobody gets hurt," he said.

"I don't have them," he answered honestly, trying to catch Dunn's eye from across the room. He could sell Dunn out, but where would that leave him? Without the cores and missing the person he was supposed to kill for them. Why complicate more people in the process?

"Nice try, Lark," the man said, and that caught his interest. Lark? That was the person they were supposed to be tracking. Why would he think--

"I think you've got the wrong guy, fella," Ethan said, pushing away from him. But he didn't get far before he felt a sharp prick at his neck. His body started to go numb, the world fading around him.

The last thing he remembered was Dunn's eyes on him from across the room.

--

Where are they? a voice yelled, and Ethan flinched away from it. Where is the plutonium? He reached for a gun, a knife, something but felt his hands stuck behind his back. He tried to tear away from the chair to no avail. His head was swimming, faces in front of him seemed to blend together. He didn't know what they wanted. He didn't know where he was.

He felt something sharp against his throat, a low threat he didn't understand.

Then all he knew was blood.

--

Ethan blinked against the searing light coming from somewhere in front of him. It was hot, too hot like he was standing on the surface of the sun itself. His head was pounding a rock beat so violent Ethan almost missed his worst hangovers. He swung his head around to get a bearing, get anything, some sort of indication as to where the hell he was. He couldn't remember anything.

He tried to wiggle his fingers and the sting from the rope burns around his wrists suddenly made everything violently clear. The world had finally caught up to him, the friend or company of a client who wasn't too happy with Ethan being involved in someone's death. They had finally found him.

Ethan stumbled out of the chair they had tied him to, animal instinct taking over all sophisticated thought as he scrambled across the floor, unsteady on his feet. He could see the silhouette of a man following him, slim and tall, and all training went out the window. He had no weapons, was hardly conscious, and all he could think was, run. Run.

Ethan stumbled on the concrete not even twenty feet away from where he had started. The man gained on him and grabbed him by the shoulders. Ethan swung his arms and feet wildly, going for the dirty blows, nothing in this was fair anymore. He landed a punch somewhere in the man's abdomen and heard a soft oof. The man's grip slackened and Ethan lunged to get away, but his grip shifted to Ethan's hands, locking them against his sides.

Ethan cried out and tried sloppily to headbutt him, but the man dodged with ease. Awareness started to creep back into his peripheral as he struggled, the overwhelming ache in his chest for his apartment with its bay windows instead of his impending death— for his pens and drawing paper and the mugs with chips in the handles and for Benji—

Oh, what a silly time to wish for what he could never have.

Ethan struggled even harder. The man tried to lean his body weight on the forger but was much slimmer. Maybe in a fair fight, Ethan could have beaten him, but his limbs felt like they were being controlled by puppets, the ground beneath him was far away. The man was saying something, though, starting to cut through the fog that had enveloped Ethan's brain…

"Jesus Christ, Walker, stop it, " the man gritted out. "It's alright. It's me."

Pieces of the world started to fit more steadily into place and Ethan could make out the man holding him down. Someone was looking at him with an open expression, sad and worried, Ethan realized, eyebrows furrowed and eyes big as he pleaded for Ethan to stop struggling. His hair was resting in curls against his forehead, soft and effortless. It wasn't someone he knew, but there was something at the edges of his awareness, begging him to reach out and pull at the strings to get the truth. "Who are you?" he whispered.

"Benji," the man said, gripping Ethan's shoulders tightly to bring him back into his body. "Walker, it's me. It's alright. I've got you."

Ethan looked at him warily, taking a step back out of his grasp with his hands forward. The man in front of him frowned, but he didn't seem to be a danger. "How did you find me?"

"Some spy skills, a few favors here and there," the man said.

Then came the glaring question. "Why do you look like that?"

He laughed, clear like a bell, and somehow the doubt in Ethan's mind slipped away. He grabbed at something at his throat, an invisible seam that somehow cracked open into the skin. Ethan watched in awe as he peeled a perfect mask of someone's face away and the Benji Dunn he knew revealed himself from underneath the mask.

"What the fuck," Ethan muttered, and he laughed again.

"I told you," the man-- Benji-- said. "Some spy skills. Bet the CIA doesn't have these bad boys."

Ethan opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Benji smiled at him-- that smile that was starting to melt something in Ethan's heart. He had a million questions, ones that would certainly blow his cover if a supposed CIA agent asked them, but there was one question he couldn't get out of his head.

"Why did you come back for me?" he asked. They weren't friends, they were hardly coworkers. Benji was his target, even if he didn't know it yet. But surely, one day he would. This burgeoning trust between them would shatter one night as Ethan held a gun against the man's temple and prayed to whatever god may be listening for salvation.

"Believe it or not, I wouldn't leave you," he said, so honestly it made his chest hurt.

"I didn't think you liked me," he said. Benji didn't look happy to be there, yet something in Ethan's heart swelled. They hardly liked each other and yet Benji was here for him, rescuing him.

"Well, let's just say that some things are best kept as secrets," he said with a knowing smile.

Despite himself, Ethan smiled back at him. But a horrible truth was ringing in his ears, one that he couldn't ignore.

I have to kill you.

He was taken back years ago to another lifetime, the eyes of a girl who trusted him tearing up in fear as he held a gun to her head. He could practically see Gabriel over Benji's shoulder, mouthing the words he didn't want to hear.

Shoot him.

"How did you find me? Did you get the information about Lark?" he asked, pushing the thoughts away. Benji's death could come at another time, later. Somehow he was wrapped up in this scheme, and needed to know that Benji had succeeded. The thrill of the chase had gotten to him, and the thoughts of having to kill Benji faded away. He was no longer Ethan Hunt-- he was August Walker, a CIA agent, a liar.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Are you alright? You're-- you're bleeding," he said, noticing the dried blood at Ethan's collar.

"I--I'm fine," Ethan said, taking in Benji's worried look, the concern of his hands as they skated over his body to take in the damages. There was care in his touches that Ethan didn't deserve. He pulled back and Benji looked at him, gaze open and concerned.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked. Ethan quickly shook his head. His ribs ached and were probably bruised, his wrists had rope burn and there was a cut at his neck, but that was nothing. He'd sustained much worse. Benji must have gotten to him before anything worse happened.

"I'm fine, seriously," Ethan said with a frown. "But, seriously, what about Lark?"

Benji frowned, seemingly unhappy with Ethan's answer. "We found out that he was killed by an assassin named Hunt," he said, and Ethan's stomach dropped.

"Really?" he said, scanning Benji's face. He wanted to make a move for his gun, for a weapon, anything to get out of this fight. Benji knew. It was over. But the more he looked at Benji, the more he realized that there was nothing there. He didn't seem to suspect Ethan. He could only guess that Benji had never looked at his file, never seen his face. Ethan could only pray that he never would.

"Made this whole mission useless," Benji said, concerned eyes still trained on Ethan. "Made you getting hurt… god, Walker, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"It's alright," Ethan said weakly, feeling his heart start to beat after stopping out of shock.

"No, it's my fault," Benji said, looking genuinely put out. "I dragged you into this mess, I wasn't there to stop you from getting taken— it's my fault."

"Benji," Ethan said, the name feeling odd on his tongue, "it's alright. I'm alright."

"If only that was enough," he whispered.

And Ethan, the coward he was, pretended not to hear.

--

If only that was enough. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Ethan couldn't get Benji's words-- or his stupid face, for that matter-- out of his head. Despite everything, Benji's obvious dislike for him, he still cared. He still saved Ethan. What was that supposed to mean? His stomach felt sick, though, as he drove towards the safehouse where Gabriel was surely waiting for him. He would want a report, would want the plutonium, the exact thing that Ethan didn't have. It was surely out of Benji's hands and into the IMF where they would never be able to get it.

He pulled up to the driveway to find Gabriel waiting outside the door. Taking a deep breath he opened the car door and stepped out, ready to face his fate.

"Welcome back," Gabriel said with a smile, patting him on the back as they entered the house. Ethan was walking in empty-handed-- how could he be smiling?

"You-- you know I failed, right?" he asked, and Gabriel simply shrugged.

"It happens," he said.

"What are you-- why are you so calm about this?" he asked, feeling a bit hysteric. He had fucked up the entire way-- the plutonium was in the hands of the IMF and Benji still wasn't dead. He had failed the entire way, and now the damn man was starting to grow on him. The exact opposite of what he needed.

But Gabriel trained his calm eyes on him. There was none of the anger he was expecting-- only disappointment. Disappointment that had come to acceptance, he realized, as Gabriel looked at him. Like he knew it was coming.

"You knew I would fail," he said, eyes widening. "You knew I wouldn't kill Benj-- Dunn," he corrected himself.

"I know so much more than you know, Ethan," Gabriel said, and in that moment Ethan was reminded of how vile this man could be. He had agendas beyond what Ethan could ever understand, beyond what he considered his own limits. He'd always known he wasn't working for someone good, but here he was reminded of just how much he didn't know. All he was was a puppet in a play that he didn't know the plot of.

"Now," Gabriel said, slapping a file against his chest, "I hope you remember what mission you're here for. This time, I won't be so lenient if you fail." Horribly, Ethan already knew what the file would say as he took it into his shaky hands. He flipped it open and was met with a face he knew all too well, a man who had no idea what was going to happen to him.

Benji Dunn, male, 47 years old. A known operative of the Impossible Mission Force (IMF). In possession of one key (see fig. one). Retrieve key and execute target by 12 July.

Fuck.

Ethan took in a deep breath and nodded. He had to remain focused. He couldn't let his personal feelings get in the way of his mission. He knew what he had to do. Retrieve the key and eliminate the target. Simple. He could do this.

He stepped out of the house and began making his way to Benji's location. He would need to proceed with caution. This time, he wouldn't give himself time to get attached. He would get in, get the job done, and get out. The only thing that mattered was completing the mission. The impossible mission.