Had he been given a choice, there was no way Ethan would've ended up here.
Here, standing between the man he loved and the man who controlled his life, Ethan was faced with a decision he wasn't ready to make. All this time he thought he had held the strings, controlled fate like he held the threads in his hands. All this time, all he was, all he ever could be was a puppet.
His master was staring back at him, eyes dark, holding up his hands as if to control him once again. The gun trembled in his hand, unable to make this decision.
It seemed it would be made for him, though. A flash, a deafening noise, and the world went quiet.
--
Three months ago.
Staring through his binoculars, tracking down his latest target, Ethan was reminded of all the reasons he hated this job. Long hours, the crick in his neck that he was never going to get out, being an assassin wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Then again, it wasn't like he could just switch professions.
There were only two ways Ethan's story could end: get a hit put on him and die, or get killed while killing someone else. It was simple when he thought about it. No need to invest in life insurance or any long-term plans. It made relationships easy, too: either they were one night, or there were none at all. All reasons to hate the job, but for Ethan, it wasn't like he had known anything else. This was all he had, but he couldn't complain.
Though, as he watched the sidewalks down below, he couldn't help but be reminded of the way he had ended up here. Gabriel, looking at him with that all-knowing smile on his face. Ethan knew he had no choice. He never did.
Shoot her.
Ethan closed his eyes and just for a moment he could see those eyes, full of tears and panic, before he pushed it away like all the other memories that were fighting against the wall he had put up. Like a tidal wave, they pushed at it, pushed at him, until Ethan took the binoculars away and took a breath. The visions faded away and Ethan opened his eyes to see the view of downtown DC from his tenth-story window. He sat back in his chair and took a deep breath.
"Eyes on the prize, Hunt," he muttered, practically hearing Gabriel's stern voice in his ear. He picked up the file that he had thrown on the floor and opened it, glossing over the contents even though he had memorized it long ago.
Benji Dunn was close in age to himself, a field agent at the IMF. Ethan had only ever heard about the IMF in passing when he had to pretend to be a spy like the rest of them. They seemed to handle the missions no one else wanted to do-- the missions that Gabriel wanted to stop. He had already killed the boyfriend of one operative, Jane-something, and attempted the assassination of the Austrian Chancellor. That one didn't quite work out as planned, but someone in another organization had gotten him on the way out. Gabriel didn't seem to mind as long as he was dead.
Ethan knew there were other organizations whose interests occasionally aligned with Gabriel's own. He seemed to be above it all, though, not tied to one specific organization and instead picking and choosing whenever it seemed fit. He had heard rumors of the Syndicate, heard Lane's name being passed around in hushed whispers. He wasn't a spy, but he could play a part and could listen when the job required it.
Ethan cracked his back and stood up from his chair, leaving his sniper's nest and heading down the stairs of the building. He had been trailing Dunn for a few days and knew that he did work in the coffee shop across the street before he went to work. Ethan figured he would go down and trail him to wherever the IMF offices were. Dunn was his eventual target, sure, but Gabriel seemed to think that he could provide information that would be useful to whatever scheme he was concocting in secret. He would have to kill him after he got the information he needed, which seemed like a shame. Ethan knew why he had to, but Dunn seemed like a genuinely good guy. Joined the IMF to save the world, a heart of gold like that. From his research, his mom and sister still lived in London, and Dunn sent part of his check to them each month. Sweet guy. A shame he'd have to kill him.
Ethan got down to street level and disguised himself in the small crowd of people and government workers milling about the street. He had seen Dunn enter the coffee shop and figured he could get a spot by the window and quietly trail him out. He made his way into the coffee shop, noticing that Dunn was sitting at a table waiting for his drink. Ethan went up and ordered, keeping an eye on the counter. He could grab Dunn's drink and slip a bit of thallium, a nearly untraceable poison, in his drink. Sure, the IMF would find it in an autopsy, but there would be no way they could track it back to Ethan. There were no cameras in this place and Ethan had been sure to duck away from the traffic cameras outside.
They called out Ethan's drink, placing it on the counter next to Dunn's. He grabbed Dunn's coffee quickly, smiling at the barista, and walked over to the counter that had sugar, cream, and other fix-ins. He would make it seem like he was just adding sugar as he added the thallium. Dunn would grab his drink and Ethan could switch them when he put it down. After watching him for a few days, Ethan knew that he never had his coffee without sugar and cream. He was paid to notice these types of things, after all.
What he wasn't planning on, though, was completely bumping into Dunn when he turned around.
Ethan was sent stumbling backward, keenly aware of the scalding hot coffee that was spilled all over his shirt. "What the fuck," he muttered, gingerly picking his shirt away from his skin and sucking in air through his teeth as the temperature of the coffee registered.
"Oh, shit, I'm so sorry mate," Dunn said, grabbing a napkin out of his bag and mopping at Ethan's shirt. Ethan brushed his hand aside and muttered it's okay, ducking his head and hoping that Dunn wouldn't see him.
It seemed he wouldn't be so lucky. Dunn raised his eyes to Ethan's face, scanning his expression. He squinted at him, something like recognition crossing his gaze. Ethan's stomach dropped, remembering a balcony in an opera hall, staring down the scope of a sniper rifle, and seeing the face that was in front of him right now. It wasn't as if Dunn was a random IMF operative— Gabriel had given him this assignment for a reason.
"Do I know you?" Dunn asked.
Ethan groaned internally but put on his most charming smile. "No, I don't think so," he said, brushing off Dunn's shoulder. "Do I look familiar?"
Dunn studied him for a moment longer with a skeptical gaze. If Ethan was anybody else, he wouldn't catch it, the way that Dunn was going through his memory and trying to determine if Ethan was a friend or foe. Being an assassin wasn't that far from being a spy— Ethan knew all the tricks. Dunn was assessing Ethan for threats, though his expression quickly smoothed out and he gave Ethan an easy smile.
"No, sorry mate, must've thought you were someone else. I'm really sorry about the shirt, I could have it dry cleaned or something--"
"Really, it's fine," Ethan said with a smile. "I'll deal with it."
"Alright," Dunn said with a self-deprecating smile. "Have a good day, then," he called as he picked up Ethan's coffee-- the unpoisoned coffee-- from the counter.
"Have a good day," Ethan echoed, walking away from Dunn and cursing himself for being so stupid. Dunn knew his face now, he had to be careful with how he approached this. He scowled and pulled out his phone, typing in Gabriel's number.
"We've got a problem," he muttered into his phone as soon as Dunn was out of earshot.
--
"What do you mean he saw you?" Gabriel asked. Ethan could feel the anger simmering under his cool exterior, his hand formed into a fist as he sat behind his desk.
"I mean that I tried to poison his coffee and he saw me," Ethan said, wincing as he remembered the sting of hot coffee on his skin.
"What made you think that that was a good idea?"
"I don't know, maybe someone taught me," he muttered. He knew it was a low blow at Gabriel, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.
"Please, Ethan, don't resort to childish jabs," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We have business to do."
"Give me the next contract, and I'll do it right this time," Ethan said, and he wasn't lying. It wasn't often that he made a mistake, but when he did, it weighed on him. He could feel it on his shoulders, the disappointment of Gabriel weighing on him. He felt it like a shroud over him, veiling him, marking him a failure. He wouldn't mess up this time.
"Next one's not so easy," Gabriel said darkly, all the stern handler that Ethan remembered. He'd been working with him for a long time, knew his moods, the way he seemed to know things that he shouldn't know for any reason. Ethan frowned and took the proffered file, flipping it open. He didn't recognize the face, but something in the file stood out to him.
"CIA?" he asked warily. "You sure you want trouble with the feds?"
"You didn't blink twice when you got the contract on Dunn."
Ethan shrugged. "The IMF seems like a joke. I can deal with them— I don't want the CIA on my ass."
"If everything goes according to plan," he said with a pointed look, "they won't. You're going to be infiltrating as Walker."
"Infiltrate the IMF for the plutonium?" Ethan had asked when Gabriel handed him the file. "You know I'm an assassin, not a spy, right?"
"You're trained better than half of them," Gabriel said, walking past him. "The whole point of killing Dunn was so that the plutonium would eventually end up in our hands. He had a deal to buy it that we wanted to stop, but it's happening tonight now, because of you." Ethan didn't miss the spite in his voice. He simply straightened his back, refusing to move his gaze from Gabriel, refusing to show any weakness. He'd learned a long time ago-- another lifetime ago-- that the moment he showed weakness, he was done for. "Just play along with Dunn, gain his trust. He'll lead you to it."
"Is there something you're not telling me?" he asked. Something was tingling in his spine, the hairs at the back of his neck standing upright in suspense. If nothing else, Ethan had learned to trust his gut over the years. He could usually see right through people— through their lies and schemes to see their true motives. But there was something different about Gabriel. Something he couldn't quite place his finger on, the feeling that clung to him like a dark shroud. There was something more to Gabriel, something malicious, something menacing. He'd leave if he could, but Gabriel had made it clear long ago that that could never be an option.
"Just do your damn job, Hunt," he said, annoyance seeping into his voice. And if he was going to be like that— fine. He wasn't paid enough to care what happened with the plutonium once he got it.
Still, a feeling stayed behind, clinging to him, begging him to rethink. There was something sinister here, Ethan knew it, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was a contract killer at best, it wasn't time for morals to get in and muddy things up.
--
It took a few days to track down Walker— the CIA liked to obfuscate information about their operatives. Ethan eventually found, though, that he was living in DC. A day more and he was tailing him late one night on his way home.
Or, a very convoluted way home. Walker wasn't stupid, he was sure to notice when he was being followed. He had led Ethan through a maze of the DC streets trying to shake his tail, but Ethan was able to stay on him. Walker turned into an alley and Ethan followed him.
"August Walker?" he asked, seeing how Walker's gaze immediately narrowed and his hand twitched as if wanting to go for his gun. Ethan knew it was risky, cornering him like this. It was like backing an aggressive dog into a corner. There would be a fight-- a rough one at that-- if Ethan wasn't careful.
"What do you want?" he asked warily.
Ethan pulled his gun, but he wasn't quite fast enough to beat Walker. One shot was fired over his shoulder and he ducked, running down the alley toward Walker. Another shot, this time aiming at Ethan's knee. He shot once, twice for cover, hearing the bullets ricochet off the alley walls. Now that he was in this fight, he wouldn't be able to get out until Walker was dead.
"I know you," he said as Ethan got closer, exposing his features in the dirty light coming from the end of the alley. Ethan shot once more, close range, hitting Walker in the shoulder and causing him to drop his gun. Walker wasn't going down without a fight, though. He grabbed Ethan's arm as he got close enough, wrenching it so that Ethan dropped his gun. It clattered to the ground as Walker got one good punch into his gut, bile rising in his throat as the punch connected. "Are you really dumb enough to try to take out a CIA agent?"
Ethan, needing to get out of the hold, grabbed Walker's other arm and flipped himself onto his shoulders, using his smaller stature to his advantage. Walker was practically a giant but it didn't take much to get him on the ground, choking him with his legs.
"Yes, and it doesn't matter who I am," he growled, squeezing tighter, but Walker was able to tear his legs away, going to grab at Ethan. He rolled out of the way, trying to kick Walker's legs out from under him.
"I know you work for Gabriel," he growled, stumbling a bit but having the upper hand as Ethan was on the ground. "Doesn't explain what you want from me."
"Call it needing a new identity," he said, reaching for his gun as Walker lunged at him. Two shots to the chest and one in between his eyes and Walker was stumbling backward, dead weight as he fell to the ground. A call to Gabriel and his information would be replaced with Walker's in every database, essentially replacing the man.
Ethan frowned. He wasn't a spy— he was a killer. How was he supposed to convince Dunn that he was who he said he was?
There was no time to worry about it. There was a body he had to get rid of, an identity he had to assume. The sun had set far behind the horizon, and he was on his own.
The next day, Ethan Hunt was walking into IMF headquarters as August Walker.
"So, I do know you." Ethan grimaced as he saw Dunn in the room, arms crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
"August Walker," Ethan said, holding out his hand. A beat, then Dunn took it in a firm handshake. "Nice to meet you, officially."
"So what was your little stunt in the coffee shop?" he asked, eyes narrowed.
Ethan shrugged lightly. "Honest mistake." He figured the truth would be better here, Dunn didn't need any more reason to suspect him of something. If he looked deep enough into Walker's file, he'd find that some things didn't add up and would figure out that Walker wasn't who he said he was. He just needed to distract Dunn long enough to get the plutonium for Gabriel.
"How can I trust you are who you say you are?" Dunn asked. "Is your real name even Walker?"
"No, but not even the director of the CIA knows my real one," he said with an easy smile. He could see all of Dunn's alarm bells ringing— for as innocent as he seemed, Ethan knew he had training as good as his own. Dunn wasn't going to be an easy one to fool.
"I find that hard to believe," he said dryly.
Ethan just smiled. "Some things are best kept as secrets."
Dunn regarded him with unfiltered disdain. Ethan supposed that he could do that-- the IMF was in charge here, after all. But Dunn didn't seem like the type of man to immediately not like a guy. The realization of their accidental meeting must have set off his alarm bells. Ethan could only hope that his performance-- mediocre at best-- could make them stop.
"Well, let's try not to keep too many on this job, alright mate?"
Ethan smiled. If only Dunn knew. "Can do."