Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All Benji can see when he wakes is white. Just the color white, everywhere he can see. It’s white, and it’s cold. It’s snow.

Right. There was a crash. Ethan was with him. Ethan is nowhere to be seen now. Where is Ethan?! He manages to get up. He needs to find Ethan. Ethan wouldn't just leave him willingly, he must be in trouble. Was he captured? Is he hurt?  Benji has to find him, he has to make sure he’s okay.

He drags himself forward, ignoring the pain coming from various parts of his body, forcing himself to keep going despite his legs being reluctant to obey him. He can tend to that later, once he finds Ethan. He’s not really even sure where he’s going at this point - he’s stumbling along, he thinks, in the direction that they came from, looking for clues to Ethan’s whereabouts.

Eventually, his legs falter and he can’t stand up. He tries, but his struggle in the snow is almost comically futile. He trembles with his whole body. He tries to call out for help, even though there doesn’t seem to be anyone nearby, but his clattering jaw wouldn’t let him do that anyway. His head is swimming. He attempts to struggle up to his feet once more, but it only results in some deep pain so intense it resounds in every single bone in his body. He might have blacked out, because next time he opens his eyes, there is some snow lying on him, and more of it is falling from the sky. It’s so serene, so graceful, it’s mesmerizing. His trembling subsides, the feeling of cold disappears. He’s starting to feel warm, even, and his brain is screaming at him that that’s bad, that’s dangerous. But he can't do anything about it.

How long has he been there, lying in the snow and staring up at the sky? His vision is blurred, and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. He can’t get up. He can’t even move, really. Soon, he can't even panic about it. He's only worried about Ethan... but even that fades away over time. The warmth spreads through him. It feels comforting. It feels nice. He knows he should be worried about that, but he just can’t. The snow is blindingly white, but soon enough everything becomes comfortably dark.

…

When Ethan wakes, there is only one word on his lips. 

“Benji…” 

He blinks, willing his vision to clear 

"Did you say 'Benji'?" Jane asks, rushed and breathless and clearly on edge.

"Do you know what happened to him?" Brandt cuts in. “Where is he?"

This should worry him, but the most he can muster is confusion. “He was in - he was with me,” He says, a little stronger now. “You mean he’s not here?”

The car had rolled. He remembers hitting the guard rail, his head hitting the roof, and then -

The three others share a look.

"You were alone in the car, Ethan," Luther says, confusion evident in his features now, too. "It's a miracle you survived. Only God knows how many times it flipped.” 

Ethan shakes his head. "He was with me," he repeats. This is a misunderstanding, or maybe a stupid prank. Benji had been right there with him. 

“There wasn’t anyone in the car with you,” Jane insists.

“Maybe he wasn’t in the car,” Ethan fires back. “He could have been thrown out, and it was - oh, God.”

“It was snowing,” Brandt finishes quietly. He crosses the room to lay a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “Ethan, are you sure?”

"How long has it been since you found me?" Ethan asks instead of answering the question. His breathing is growing erratic as he tries to control his panic. "How long was I out?"

"Almost twenty-four hours," Jane supplies, chilling Ethan from the inside out.

"We have to find him," he mumbles, trying to sit up before he is stopped by three sets of hands.

"You're not going anywhere,” Luther says firmly.

“But -,”

"Jane and I will go look for him." Brandt's voice is tight. "We'll be in touch.”

Ethan opens his mouth to argue because he can't, he can’t lay in this bed while Benji is out there freezing to death, but Luther’s words register with him and he closes it.  He, quite literally, hasn’t a leg to stand on.

Reluctantly, he nods.

"What do you remember last?" Luther asks.

Ethan shuts his eyes. 

Highway, no, back road. Spinning, guardrail -

A weight settles in his chest when he remembers losing control of the car - they weren't even being chased, but it was icy, and he’d been speeding. "He was with me, we were in the car, and we – we spun out.”

Luther meets his gaze steadily.

"They'll find him.”

Ethan forces himself to nod, though his hope is stretched thin.

Hold on, Benji.

The exposure will kill him even if the accident hadn’t, but he’s clever and resourceful. He might have been able to find shelter. Ethan tries to latch onto that, if only just to keep his panic at bay. 

Luther leans forward. "I don't get it," he remarks casually. "Why was he in the car with you?" 

Ethan opens his mouth to speak and has to pause. Just thinking about this is going to make him sick. He shuts his eyes again.

“This is my fault,” Ethan finally answers in a quiet voice. Luther is waiting patiently, but he doesn’t look at him. He can’t. 

“He blew his cover,” Ethan explains. “My fault, not his. I gave him bad intel.”

“Oh, shit,” Luther says in a low voice.

“I scooped him. We were headed to the safe house, and...”

He remembers his heart pounding as he navigated the already treacherous road, with blizzard and ice thrown in. He’d just wanted to get Benji to the house where he would be safe as quickly as possible.

They weren’t even being followed, but he’d been paranoid, and in his paranoia he’d been reckless. Getting Benji out of harm’s way immediately was the only thing he could see that night and now Benji is-

Luther opens his mouth, and Ethan wonders what kind of excuse he can possibly come up with for him. However, he doesn't find anything he can say. 

"I told him I was taking him to safety. He trusted me. He's always trusted me. And now..."

His eyes soften a bit. “Accidents happen, Ethan,” he tells him. “Mistakes happen, too.” 

Ethan shakes his head as his eyes fill with tears. “I don’t know if they’re going to find him on time,” he whispers. He doesn’t know that it isn’t too late already. 

"Come on, man, you're talking like Brandt!" 

He knows that tone well, light and playful and not-quite mocking, knows that Luther is trying to cheer him up. He presses his lips into a thin line as he blinks back more tears and stays quiet. Luther doesn’t try again.

They sit in near-complete silence for about an hour, when the comms come to life.

"We’re at the crash site," Brandt's voice is urgent. "It has, ah, snowed more. We can barely see what's left of the car". 

This doesn’t help Ethan’s current state one bit. He wonders how far Benji must have been thrown, for the team to not even know he was there with him. “I don’t know where he ended up.” 

“There’s no sign of him here,” Jane says. A sudden, horrible thought occurs to Ethan. 

“What if he regained consciousness for a while? What if he tried to move?” 

“Whatever tracks he might have left are covered now,” Brandt says. 

“Brandt, maybe we should split up,” Jane suggests. Ethan swallows hard. 

Hold on, Benji.

"Judging by how much snow there is, Benji might be buried under it as well," Brandt comments, trying to sound dry, almost detached. Ethan can hear the thread of panic in his voice.

The heavy blanket does nothing to shelter Ethan from the chill settling in his bones. He shudders, unable to say a word for what feels like days, though he’s sure it’s only been an hour or so. He barely feels the light, comforting squeeze on his shoulder.

On the other end, Brandt and Jane begin calling out Benji’s name, driven by a sheer desperation that’s evident in their cries.

“He’s either not conscious, or not here,” Brandt sighs. “We’re not going to find him like this.” 

“Brandt, please.” Ethan can feel the blood draining from his face, can’t be bothered to pretend he isn’t begging. “We have – you have to find him.”

“We’re going to find him,” Jane says firmly.

“Not like this. We need help.”

“I can send for backup,” Luther offers. “But if Benji’s out there, he can’t wait that long.”

“Local police?”

Brandt’s suggestion is met initially with silence while Luther and Ethan share a look. They’re supposed to be undercover. Reaching out to the local authorities would be dangerous, could cost them the whole mission and maybe even their jobs.

There’s really no question, though. Not with Benji’s life on the line. Jane and Brandt have left and returned to the scene of the accident within the hour, a search team and a dog in tow.

In all that time, Ethan hasn't spoken. His fists are clenched tightly, knuckles white, digging into the sheets. He looks out of the window and notices it's getting dark.

He listens to every yelp and every exclamation in the comms. It feels like time stopped, hours ago. Only it keeps getting darker and darker outside.

Ethan’s hope slips further away with each passing hour, as do their chances at finding Benji before it’s too late. A dog yelps in the background, and Ethan thinks nothing of it until the dog begins barking aggressively. There is shouting on the other end, words he can’t make out, and then -

“Benji, oh god. Oh god.”

“Get him out of there!”

“Brandt, he’s blue.” 

“Where was he?” Ethan asks sharply.

"About half a mile away from the crash site," Brandt barks. "Ethan, he's... oh God".

Ethan tries to retain his composure, tries to breathe, tries to muster enough courage to ask what needs to be asked. "Is he ali-,"

"I can't find a pulse!" Jane's voice cuts in before he can finish.

No, no, no, no –

“Ethan, breathe,” Luther urges him gently, which is wrong, because he’s fine. Benji needs to breathe.

Ethan feels utterly frozen, in place and in time. This isn’t happening, not to Benji. Benji can’t be –

“Neither can I,” Brandt mutters. It takes Ethan a moment to realize that he’s just felt Benji’s pulse, they’re still talking about Benji’s pulse, they can’t find Benji’s pulse.  

“He needs medical attention,” Jane says, but thought is cut short by one, two, three shots fired. The other side of the connection descends into utter chaos, shouting and grunting. Two more shots followed by silence.

Ethan, shaking from head to toe, only just manages to meet Luther’s wide-eyed gaze.

A heavy, oppressive silence settles over the room for what feels like hours, leaving both men paralyzed and utterly helpless.

Luther's phone rings.

Ethan watches as he picks it up with a trembling hand, though he visibly relaxes upon answering. He immediately switches to speaker phone.

"Mason's men caught up to us," Brandt informs. Ethan can’t help but note his tone, clipped and professional as though he’s being debriefed. "We’re fine, we took them all out. We're heading your way.”

Ethan's throat tightens, threatening to choke him out completely. The only word he can manage is Benji’s name. 

"We have him. We're bringing him to you.”

"He's alive?" Ethan's tongue and head have grown fuzzy, making it difficult to talk. The sharp and shaky breaths on the other end tell him all he needs to know, and yet -

"I don't know.”

Three little words, but they settle in the pit of Ethan’s chest until it feels heavy with grief. More than that, he’s furious, except there’s no one to blame but himself.

 “He’s too cold to tell.”

Still can’t find a pulse.

“Is he breathing?” Ethan’s voice is barely a whisper.

Jane’s voice is audible, but her words are not. She's probably not next to the phone. Probably in the back with Benji while Brandt is driving.

"He's n-." Another harsh breath, "...We can't tell. Jane says she can't feel any breathing. He's...he's all blue.”

For a second there is another pause, as Brandt is trying to pull himself together.

"We'll be there soon," he rasps in a voice that is not quite his own before hanging up.

Luther stands immediately to collect every blanket and hot pack they’ve amassed in their time here, as well all the first aid supplies he can find, all while Ethan braces himself for the worst and hopes for the best.

Hope isn’t a strategy.

You must be new.

Two days, he’s been out there. Injured and freezing to –

He doesn’t let himself complete the thought, instead tries to recall the relief on Benji’s face when Ethan showed up to get him out of there, Benji’s hand in his as they’d driven away, squeezing tightly as they spun off of the road...

Ethan blinks when headlights shine on the wall opposite him. The front door opens and then slams shut, and Luther rushes to meet them with all the supplies he’d gathered. Ethan swings his sore legs over the side of the bed just in time to see Benji, cradled bridal style in Brandt’s arms, be laid on the couch. Ethan can just barely see him from where he is, but his skin is ghastly and tinted blue. Even the numerous cuts are barely visible on it.

"We still can't find a pulse."

Ethan lifts his eyes slowly to meet Jane’s. She no longer sounds afraid like on the phone. There’s a note of apology in her voice now, as though her fear has already been consumed by grief. As if she has already started to accept the finality of what is happening. Before he can say anything, she shifts her attention to Benji. Ethan does the same.

He stares at Benji’s lifeless features, unable to look away. His Benji.

Ethan had waited so long before revealing his feelings, having been so deeply in love for so long before finally coming clean. It was only after Kashmir that the longing became unbearable, only to discover that his feelings have been reciprocated the whole while. They had so little time together.

His sweet Benji, with the smile and laughter that could melt any kind of ice. His Ben- 

Only, it's not his Benji anymore. It's just a body they are going to put into a coffin for Ethan to kiss goodbye, never to see it again.

Ethan stumbles closer, his legs and back screaming at every movement, until he’s on his knees next to the couch. Brandt is crouching next to Benji’s feet, removing his shoes and socks.

“We have to get him out of these clothes,” Brandt mumbles.

Denial, Ethan thinks, his own throat closing and rendering him without speech. He reaches for Benji’s face but hesitates, afraid of what the skin will feel like. He’s painfully aware of two other pairs of eyes on him - not Brandt’s, though. He’s focused entirely on Benji, stripping off his wet clothes and replacing them with dry blankets.

“Start breathing,” he whispers to Benji.

Benji’s cheek is icy to the touch. Brandt cuts his shirt away from his chest, and tucks two blankets around him.

“Benji. Start breathing.”

His face is still so lifeless. Ethan wants to scream, to argue the very laws of nature that allowed this to happen, but he has no one and nothing to blame but himself. This is his fault. He got Benji killed. He killed his Benji.

He wants to sob, to scream that he's sorry, because he is so fucking sorry, but he's still in stupor. Staring at the dead body on the couch.

Someone grabs him by the shoulders and gently pulls him backwards. There is a deep voice in his ear. He knows the voice belongs to Luther, but he doesn’t manage to catch a word of what he’s saying.

Luther knows he can’t make him go back to bed, but he does guide him toward a nearby armchair. Ethan doesn’t sit, doesn’t seem to notice the chair at all. He’s so dazed he’s nearly catatonic.

"Come on, Ethan, give Brandt and Jane some room to work on him," Luther reasons, not really expecting Ethan to hear him.

Ethan’s eyes stay glued to Benji. He hears Luther, though he sounds far away. He watches Brandt and Jane remove the rest of Benji’s clothes and tuck thin blankets over his body, followed by hot packs, followed by thicker blankets on top, and wonders distantly why they’re trying so hard to warm a dead body.

Is this how it ends, then? On a shabby old couch, covered in blankets and hot packs? The mundane absurdity of it makes him want to scream, but he can’t move a muscle.

Brandt swears, and it nearly snaps him out of his daze. His fingers are on Benji’s throat - checking periodically for a pulse. “Good work, Benji,” he says, and sounds as though he might just start crying.

“Brandt?” Ethan’s voice is barely above a whisper.

“Pulse,” Brandt confirms. “Weak, but it’s there.” Benji’s skin is improving, too. He’s still pale and cold and mostly blue, but some of the pinkness is returning to his skin.

Despite Luther's arms trying to stop him, Ethan stumbles back to where he had just been at Benji's side.

"That's it," he whispers into Benji's ear. "Just keep breathing. Just... stay. With me. Please.”

Ethan can feel eyes on him once more, three pairs this time, three curious gazes. Three different mouths that want to ask questions, no doubt, but not one of them can manage it.

Ethan knows he’s nowhere near out of the woods, but he’s not lost forever, either. He wants desperately to kiss him, just his shoulder or head, just so he knows that he’s not alone. Ethan settles for watching his chest instead; he can just make out some shallow breaths.

He could sit here and watch Benji breathe all night. In fact, he just might - someone will have to sit with him, after all. Luther lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Ethan, you need to be laying down.”

"I'm not leaving him." Not now that he's breathing, his heart is beating, he is alive.

Ethan moves his head so that it's pressed to the side of Benji's. His hand is gently stroking Benji’s other cheek. He’s still so cold. It makes Ethan want to pull himself closer.

He finally gives in and kisses the side of Benji’s face, knowing full well that Benji would be angry with him for that if he was awake. They weren’t ready to tell the others about this, about them, not yet. Ethan knows he’ll have an awful lot of explaining to do later – right now, he can’t find it in himself to care.

Brandt clears his throat.

“I didn’t realize you were that close,” he comments lightly, not looking to embarrass or instigate, but just to clarify. Jane elbows him hard in the side.

Ethan hums and stays put. He wants to squeeze next to Benji, curl around him and give him every last bit of warmth in his body.

"See, Benji? They're taking it well," he whispers instead of answering that remark. "I'm sorry, I know you wanted to see Brandt's reaction. You can still catch it if you wake up now.”

He doesn’t expect a response, but his insides twist anyway when there isn’t one.

"It's okay. Just keep breathing".

“We just have to watch him now,” Jane says, pointedly ignoring the elephant in the room.

“What else can we do for him?” Ethan asks. His head is still resting on the pillow next to Benji’s.

“Nothing,” she says softly. There is really not much else they can do, except for monitoring him. He doesn’t like it, but all he can do is nod in agreement.

“You’re going to be alright,” he whispers to Benji.

“You need to be in bed,” Luther says firmly.

Ethan shakes his head. "Not leaving him."

He's messed up enough already. He doesn't deserve to lie down.

His entire body aches and screams from the strain he's put on it, but watching Benji breathe is the only thing that can possibly help him hold on. God, he doesn't deserve even that. He was the one who did this to Benji. He trembles all over and burrows his face in the crook of Benji's neck.

Still so cold. He’s getting warmer though, or at least Ethan thinks so, and his breathing is actually audible now. Faint, but at least it’s there. If the breaths seem to be getting more labored as time progresses, it’s surely in his imagination.

He frowns and sits up, fingers instinctively going to Benji’s neck, and then his wrist. His pulse is present. Still weak. Had it been erratic like this before? Ethan lays his head on Benji’s chest carefully, just enough pressure to hear his heart.

Benji really should be in the hospital right now. Ethan reminds himself that it’s his own fault he’s not. It’s his fault that Benji should be there in the first place.

The fragile heartbeat beneath his ear stutters.

“Benji.” Ethan lifts his head, reaches out to grasp Benji’s jaw. “Benji.”

His breathing grows shallower still, until Ethan can’t hear any breath at all. Someone is crying out Benji’s name, and then screaming for help, and then there’s a set of hands on his shoulders, gently pulling him back. Jane fills the space Ethan had occupied just a moment ago. Brandt joins her, feeling for a pulse, like he had just a moment ago.

Ethan’s throat stings. It is only when he recognizes the screaming voice as his own that he falls silent.

He’s hyperaware of Luther behind him, likely the only force holding him in an upright position, probably unsure of what to do with him, so he just kind of... keeps Ethan in place.

Brandt and Jane are performing CPR, one of them giving Benji breaths and the other doing compressions.

He watches Benji's face. Pale and still as if it were a statue, making Ethan think of one of artful tombstones in an old cemetery. Benji's whole body is like a ragdoll, unresponsive to Brandt's compressions and only flopping and jerking from the force he applies to Benji's chest.

It's the second time in this single day that Ethan looks at Benji and sees a dead body. Somehow, this time feels worse. He’d just gotten Benji back and, now he's being forcefully ripped from him again. And they can't take him to a hospital. They have to deny him the help he needs, they have to limit his chances to survive. Ethan is trembling and shaking, wanting just to tear this world apart. To tear himself apart. He wants to call out to Benji, as though begging him to breathe could help him. Could bring him back.

Time seems to slow down and stretch out as he watches Brandt, who pumps Benji’s chest as though his own life depends on it. Jane breathes into his mouth twice more before they switch roles. An eternity has passed in only a few minutes.

He doesn’t want to watch Benji’s chest rise like this, so utterly lifeless, but he can’t tear his eyes away.

Nobody speaks, not even Brandt or Jane. The only sounds in the room are heavy breathing. He wonders idly if Benji has broken ribs from the accident. He wonders if this will make it worse.

It doesn’t matter, though. Nothing matters, not anymore. What’s happening in front of him is so, so wrong. His eyes blur with tears, but he doesn’t make a sound.

The color Benji’s skin had regained has vanished, leaving him bluer than when Brandt had first carried him in.

Ethan's whole face is wet. He wants to apologize, over and over again, but his voice is stolen from him. That doesn't matter anymore anyway - Benji will never hear his apology. Benji is dead.

"Come on!" Jane yells as she slams her fist at Benji's ribcage again and again. She checks for a pulse yet again and exchanges a look with Brandt. Both of them slump bonelessly over Benji, leaning on the couch for support for a moment before sitting on the floor, backs to the couch.

"He's back," Brandt breathes out. It gives Ethan the strength to pull against Luther's grip once more, because he needs to be with Benji, he needs to hear his heartbeat, needs to feel his breathing, needs to know that Brandt is telling the truth.

He falls to his knees beside the couch, running a hand over Benji’s hair and laying his head on his chest once more. Benji’s heartbeat beneath his ear is like music, the most beautiful he’s ever heard.

“I see you,” Ethan chokes out, his voice muffled against Benji’s skin. “I see you fighting, Benj. You’re so strong.”

Does he hear him? Will he ever hear him again? Benji is breathing, Benji is alive, but is that enough?

His cheek is still so cold beneath Ethan’s fingertips. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

Alive is enough for right now. It has to be, because Benji doesn’t respond to him. Ethan settles for a kiss on the forehead before pressing his face into the crook of Benji’s neck.

They’re staring again, though Ethan can hardly blame them. Jane and Brandt appear too exhausted to ask any questions right now, or maybe consciously decide not to. He can’t blame them for that, either.

"He should be in the hospital," Brandt rasps after a moment. "I don't think we can bring him back if that happens again.”

"You saw Mason's men kill the whole rescue team out there,” Jane responds dryly. “The hospital will be an easy target for them.”

“He might die if we keep him here. He might be attacked if we take him in,” Brandt says with a bitter chuckle.

Ethan begins to tremble slightly. He shouldn't cry, he shouldn't let his tears run onto Benji's neck, but he just can't stop.

There’s a hand on his shoulder. He’s not sure who it belongs to. He can’t bear to look away from Benji or even lift his head at all, terrified that he’ll slip away for good if he does.

“Ethan,” Luther says tentatively, eyeing the way he clings to Benji, the tender way he touches him.  “Is there something we should know?”

Ethan lets out a shaky breath into Benji's shoulder. This really is not how he had ever imagined the others finding out. It feels outright weird to be talking about this now.

"We wanted to wait a bit more before telling you," he mumbles. His hand hasn’t moved from Benji’s cheek. “We've been together for two months now. We... we made a decision to tell you after three. And now.... now you know.”

Luther lets out a long, low whistle, while Jane opens her mouth to speak and then opts against it. Brandt presses his lips into a hard line and doesn’t say anything at all.

“I’m... not surprised,” Luther admits. Will and Jane remain silent. Neither will look at him.

Brandt breaks the silence eventually. “You’re together, and you... let him come out here?”

Ethan frowns. “I don’t let him do anything. That’s not how that works.”

“Would you let him die on this couch? Because that just fucking happened, Ethan.”

Ethan goes white as a sheet. Brandt regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but he doesn’t take them back. Not while he can still feel Benji’s ribs threatening to break beneath his palms, can still feel his own breath against his cheek as it exits Benji’s mouth.

Ethan shudders, visibly stung, but he doesn’t argue. He can’t seem to speak at all.

“This is not the time or place,” Luther cuts in sternly.

"And I think this is exactly the time and place to do it," Brandt retorts, but there isn't much fire in his voice. He's simply too exhausted to yell.

"I know this is all my fault," Ethan's voice is so broken he's surprised that he can even speak at all. "I know I messed up.”

He wonders if Benji will ever forgive him. He cannot for the life of him forgive himself. Something in his mind hisses that he doesn’t even deserve to be there. Doesn’t deserve Benji or his forgiveness.

As if in response to his thoughts, Luther's hand lands on his shoulder again. "He needs you here".

Ethan isn’t so sure about that. He’d explained this before, hadn’t he? He’d given Benji the bad intel. He’d crashed the car. Benji was left injured and freezing to death because of his mistake.

What he is sure of, however, is that he needs Benji. He sure as hell doesn’t deserve him, but god does he need him.

“If his heart stops again...” Brandt mutters, trailing off. Ethan turns to look at them and sees tears in his eyes. He’s watching him breathe, too.

He screws his eyes shut, utterly depleted of the energy he might have used to respond.

"We need you to wake up," he whispers to Benji's unresponsive face. "I need you… Please, Benji. Wake up.”

And then the room is engulfed in silence. The only thing Ethan hears is Benji's heartbeat. That’s the only thing that matters to him anyway.

Early daylight is beginning to peak through the window, and Luther tries convincing him to rest again, to which Ethan firmly refuses. It would be for naught anyway – he won’t be able to relax anywhere but Benji’s side.

“Jane’s going to sit with him, too. No one’s leaving him alone,” Luther offers. Ethan shakes his head. If they lose Benji today, Ethan will not be absent for his last hours.

Eventually, it’s he and Jane sitting at Benji’s side. Jane is curled up in an armchair, and Ethan is still laying on Benji’s chest. He doesn’t want to not be able to hear his heartbeat, in case it stops again.

“I don’t want to see him get hurt,” Jane murmurs after almost two hours of silence.

Ethan looks up at her, and then at Benji’s pale face. He’s warming incrementally, though his lips and eyelids have stubbornly remained blue.

It needs not be said, that it’s much too late for that.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan whispers instead.

There is nothing Jane can say, and so she doesn’t.

Ethan's eyes are drooping. He tries to keep them open for as long as he can, to look at Benji's face. Benji's heartbeat is in his ear, and nothing can be more soothing that that for him now. Exhaustion overpowers him soon enough, and his eyes fall shut.

… 

His dreams are chaos, an erratic mess of sounds and images. They are neither calming nor particularly frightening, but they crowd in his head until it’s nearly as exhausting as being awake.

A heartbeat is the only thing he hears over all the cacophony, the only thing he has to cling to, until a sudden sound makes him stir. Something between a rasp and a strangled groan.

Ethan opens his eyes, immediately at full awareness. His head snaps up, his eyes finding Benji’s face right away. His eyes are still closed, but they flutter as he produces another raspy groan.

“Benji?”

Benji acknowledges his name with another sound, more of a hum than a groan this time. His breathing picks up a little. Is he frightened? In pain? Can he breathe well enough? Ethan eyes his lips again and swallows his own fear. One thing at a time.

“You’re doing good,” he soothes, lifting a hand to stroke Benji’s hair. Benji’s eyes flutter again and open.

Cloudy. Head injury.

Ethan smiles down at him as his own eyes fill with tears. Benji doesn’t smile back. His face is pinched with pain.

“What hurts?” He asks immediately. “Can you breathe?”

It takes too long for Benji's eyes to focus. They don't manage it fully. Benji takes a sharp breath, making his entire body shudder.

"E-Eth-an..."

A mere breath, not even a whisper. Benji moves his hand, probably trying to reach out, but is not strong enough. Ethan takes it in his own and holds it, trying to push his emotions away to assess the situation. Benji recognizes him, this is good.

Trying to keep his voice steady, Ethan repeats his question.

Benji's eyes flutter in a pained grimace. He takes another forced and shuddery breath.

"Chest... spine. H-hard to breathe." His eyes well up, shining with pain and fear.

Ethan is frightened, too. Benji is doing better than before, but it’s not comforting. Anything is better than before, but without medical treatment, it won’t last. Ethan is painfully aware, once again, that he doesn’t know the full extent of his condition. He can’t tell him that he’ll be okay. He can’t tell him that he’s being treated. He can’t tell him that he’s going to recover.

“I’m gonna to help you sit up,” Ethan says, an apology already written his face. Benji’s spine hurts, likely injured, but this will help him breathe.

Ethan eases him up slowly, gentle as he can. He does most of the work, but it doesn’t matter. Benji lets out strangled little whimpers with every movement, shudders with every breath. Ethan can’t decide which is worse, the sounds Benji is making, or that he’s trying very hard to bite them back 

They get him upright. He leans forward to try and catch his breath, shaking from head to toe.

“Why are you moving him?” Jane snaps, rising from her chair.

“He couldn’t breathe,” Ethan shoots back. Jane ignores him, and crouches next to the couch.

Benji’s eyes shift from Jane, to Ethan and back to Jane. He hasn’t said a word, but the question on his mind can be heard loud and clear.

"Ethan, his spine is injured," Jane tries to keep her voice calm now that she knows that Benji can hear her. "We shouldn't move him. It can damage his spinal cord and…," she lets herself trail off.

Ethan feels the buzzing in his head come back with a vengeance. A gentle squeeze of his hand brings him back to reality.

"S’okay." Another pained breath from Benji. Ethan clutches his hand tighter and brings it to his lips.

It should be a relief, after the past two days, to see Benji’s eyes and hear his voice, but it somehow isn't. Benji is so frail that he's barely there at all, threatening to slip away at any moment. Every inhale sounds heavy and forced, like it's a huge effort just to breathe.

Ethan's own breath catches in his throat at every interval between Benji's. Look what you’ve done to him, a voice hisses in his head, and he has to swallow a sob.

“Benji,” Jane asks, her voice kept carefully even. “Can you tell me what happened?” 

Benji doesn’t answer right away. He squeezes Ethan’s hand again and seems to need to focus entirely on breathing. Jane’s words ring in his head again. He’s not sure if sitting Benji up had helped at all.

“I don’t -,” Benji breathes, only to be interrupted by harsh, wet coughs that nearly send Ethan into a full panic.

It passes, and Ethan’s hands hover over him, ready to do… nothing. There’s nothing he can do.

"I don't know," Benji finally rasps, moving his muddled gaze between them.

"We were in a car crash," Ethan says softly, searching Benji's eyes for any clarity. "Do you remember?”

Benji's brow furrows, and he takes a few more harsh breaths. "We've been in many... crashes." An attempt at humor. Ethan doesn't know if he should try to laugh or apologize even more.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Jane tries to keep her voice gentle, almost uncharacteristically so.

Ethan can see gears turning in Benji’s head as he tries so hard to separate and identify his memories. “The com - compound,” he manages. He looks like he wants to say more, but he can’t quite find the words for it, or maybe he just isn’t sure what’s real right now. He deflates visibly.

“Anything else?” Ethan presses gently. Benji nods, struggles for a few more breaths, and speaks again.

“Got... the files,” he manages, and then frowns. “Clothes?”

“I’m sorry,” Jane says. “You were - hang on, I’ll find you some -,”

“You got the files?” Ethan asks simultaneously. Benji nods toward the damp pile on the floor. Clothes.

Jane widens her eyes and goes to the pile.

“Coat... pocket,” Benji rasps. After a moment, Jane pulls out a flash drive, her eyes wide.

"Benji..." She immediately rushes to plug the flash drive into the laptop Luther left on a nearby table. Ethan strokes Benji's hair all the while, watching his eyes for any sign of a change in his state. "This is... this is all we were looking for. I'll get Luther to transfer the data.”

Benji blinks blearily. Ethan allows himself a quiet little laugh. "Mission accomplished?" he murmurs, his eyes never leaving Benji's, allowing his worry to subside.

Benji offers him a small smile. Ethan wants to kiss it, but he holds back, unwilling to compromise Benji’s ability to breathe for even one second. He cups his cheeks in his hands and presses a kiss to his forehead instead.

“Done,” Luther announces from his chair, twenty odd minutes after they’d found the flash drive. Benji is lying down again, on his side this time, and Ethan is rubbing his back.

“Let’s get him out of here,” Brandt says, who’d been woken up along with Luther. He nods toward the couch.

“No,” Luther says. “Transfer’s complete, but they haven’t cleared us yet. We have to wait.”

“That could take days,” Brandt argues.

“Luther’s right,” Jane says. “We can’t risk it.”

Brandt lets out a breath, and lets his eyes fall on Benji, awake and mostly lucid. As tired and weak as he looks, he’s doing better. He should be fine.

Benji coughs, and Ethan holds his hand through it.

"It's okay," he whispers into Benji's ear. "It's okay, you're gonna be okay, just wait a little bit longer.”

Benji's face contorts in pain. "Hurts," he manages through a hiss. "Back... hurts. Chest…," he is left gasping before he can finish.

Ethan kisses his temple, feeling scared and hopeless all over again.

Carefully, very carefully, he keeps those emotions hidden. He can’t let Benji know that he’s scared, put stress on him that his body can’t handle. “Just a little longer,” he repeats. 

Benji nods like he believes him, even though he’s still gasping for breath. Ethan’s forehead creases, unable to stop that bit of worry from showing through as he clutches Benji’s hand tighter.

You did this to him, that voice hisses again. Now watch him suffer. 

“There has to be something we can give him,” he tells Jane quietly. “An inhaler, anything.”

Jane shakes her head. “We have to wait it out.”

Another violent cough erupts from Benji, making him shudder and shift, disturbing his spine. He lets out a rough, harsh growl, which makes him cough again, his eyes welling up. Ethan tries rubbing his back. He pulls it away as though burned when Benji gasps sharply. He lays his hand on Benji's chest instead, and his palm senses the moist rattling.

"Sorry," Ethan whispers automatically. "I'm so sorry".

Benji was so pale just a few hours ago, and now he’s all flushed on his face and chest. His lips and fingernails, however, are still blue.

He’d assumed it was just from the cold, that it would go away on its own. He realizes now that it’s because Benji can hardly breathe.

Benji surprises him by trying to speak. “Not your… fault,” he rasps. Ethan nods, but can’t speak around the tight band that’s fastened itself around his throat.

Benji doesn’t blame him.

No, that’s not true. Benji doesn’t know, and Ethan can’t bear to tell him the truth. Not yet.

…

Afternoon presses into early evening, and Benji’s skin grows warmer. By midnight, Benji is burning up. 

"Don't we have anything for the fever?" Ethan is completely exasperated. He and Jane keep wiping Benji's face with a cool wet cloth, until it gets too warm and they need to switch to a different one.

Ethan wonders if they can apply snow or ice from the outside. Wonders if that will make things better or even worse, after all the hypothermia he’s still recovering from.

Brandt goes though the contents of their med kit and retrieves a small vial. "This should help if he gets much worse.”

They sit for an hour longer. Benji's fever keeps rising, until they agree that it's getting out of hand. Jane finds a syringe in the med kit and injects the contents of the vial into Benji's bicep. His temperature begins to fall soon enough, and he settles into something that seems like calm sleep, allowing the others to rest as well. Ethan places his head on Benji's pillow, just like earlier, and allows himself to close his eyes. Benji’s breathing, though still rough, is easier in sleep. Before much time has passed, Ethan drifts off himself.

…

Ethan is stretched out on the couch in his apartment with Benji’s head in his lap, their shoes strewn on the floor.

He looks at the TV, fairly certain that he’s seen this move before, but he can’t remember how it ends. He studies the screen for a moment and smiles once the connection is made. Of course he remembers this – this is the first night they’d ever spent together, easily one of his dearest memories. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d felt such bliss, but he remembers with whom.  

Julia. He didn’t think he’d love like that ever again.

His feelings had crept up on him slowly, but were undeniable all the same. They certainly couldn’t stay hidden forever. He could only be caught staring at Benji so many times before he’d be questioned about it, or was it he who’d caught Benji staring at him?

His hand tangles in Benji’s hair as the end of the film approaches. When the credits roll, he’ll nudge him until he stirs and guide him to his bedroom, where they’ll curl around each other until morning.

In his lap, Benji begins to whimper. His body begins to tremble. Ethan frowns. He doesn’t remember this part.

“Benji,” he murmurs. He’s still stroking his hair. “Benji, wake up.”

Benji mumbles. “Ethan, where are you?”

Ethan is jolted awake, his head on Benji’s pillow, just as he’d fallen asleep. He tenses and scans the room, when he hears Benji whimper again. 

"Ethan, where are you?" Benji repeats, trying to talk with much more energy than he has. His breath catches, a sob or a gasp, it's hard to tell.

"I'm right here, Benji, I'm here," Ethan presses his cheek to Benji's and jolts up. Benji's fever is through the roof.

"Please be okay." Ethan notices that Benji's eyes are open and looking around the room, but whatever Benji sees is definitely not this room with Ethan in it. "Please be okay, Ethan. I'm so... sorry. God, Ethan, please be okay. 

Tears are running down Benji's cheeks as his mumbling gets less coherent.

Panic squeezes Ethan’s throat once more, and he reaches out and taps the person closest to him before digging through the first aid kit for more medicine. Benji’s distress seems to grow when Ethan breaks skin contact. Brandt rouses quickly and sits on the edge of the couch next to Benji. 

“Jesus, he’s hot,” Brandt breathes when he touches Benji’s forehead. Benji moans and continues babbling. Neither can make out what he’s saying at this point, except Ethan’s name a few times.

“Don’t we have more medicine?” Ethan growls when his dig through the kit yields nothing. Benji begins to weep quietly, which escalates to a coughing fit.

"Screw this, we need ice," Brandt runs off, leaving Ethan to try to reach Benji to no avail. It's so strange; not long ago, the cold was killing him, and they were trying to get him warm. Now he's burning up, melting in front of their very eyes, mumbling barely coherent apologies for god knows what.

Apologizing when it's all Ethan's fault. Ethan suddenly realizes that he never told Benji why his cover was blown. Benji must have been convinced all this time that he’d failed because he wasn't good enough.

"Come on, Benji," Ethan has to push past his own guilt, as this truly isn’t the time. "Hold on, please, just hold on. You’re doing so well, just... hold on."

Brandt and Jane make ice packs, which they wrap tightly in towels and proceed to tuck around Benji’s body. Ethan feels his knees give out. Luther holds him upright, just like before. Benji doesn’t seem to notice their hands on him, and he struggles weakly under their care.

Stay with us, Benji, Ethan begs silently, though he knows he has no right to ask Benji for anything.

Brandt and Jane don’t speak, and Ethan has no way of knowing if the ice is helping, if he’s cooling off. Slowly, though, he stops whimpering. He stops struggling. He watches Jane lift two fingers to check his pulse and oh god, no, please not now, not when they’re so close –

She turns to Ethan. “He’s still here,” she says softly. “I think he just passed out.”

Just like the last time, Ethan drags himself to Benji's side. His busted and swollen legs are killing him, but he ignores it and buries his face in the crook of Benji's neck. Benji's still a bit warmer than he should be, but not burning from within anymore. His breathing is harsh and raspy, and it catches repeatedly. Ethan tries to be relieved that he can breathe at all, but then it catches once more, and he’s terrified all over again.

"I know you don’t even blame me," he mumbles, "but I am so, so sorry. This is my fault. Even though I know you'd never accept that.”

He falls mostly silent after that, except for the occasional apology, or “I love you,” or “Please hold on.” Luther doesn’t bother trying to get Ethan to rest anymore. None of them can rest, either, and Ethan isn’t going anywhere anyway.

Luther lays a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, early in the morning on the fourth day. Ethan barely flinches. “HQ sent in a team to take down Mason,” he tells him gently. “We should be clear sometime tomorrow.”

Ethan nods despite feeling utterly broken inside. Benji is breathing, but every breath is hard and painful, and sounds like it could be the last. His heartbeat isn’t much better - it sounds scarily close to how it had two days ago, just before it stopped. Does Benji have until tomorrow?

“Just a little longer,” he whispers in his ear. He strokes Benji’s hair, tries to pour as much love as he can into every little touch. “You’re doing so well. Just a little more.”

He finds himself missing the time when Benji was awake. He misses seeing Benji's eyes, no matter how clouded from the head injury. He misses hearing Benji speak, even in raspy croaks. The only signs of life he can see now are forced breaths and coughs. Benji has coughing fits in his sleep, choking without even waking up, and they can't do anything but sit by his side and watch him die.

They sleep in shifts. Brandt and Jane are vigilant with Benji’s temperature, careful to make sure he doesn’t get too cold. He won’t, anyway, but they check him every hour or so. Just to be sure.

Ethan, on the other hand, watches his signs of life like a hawk. He becomes attuned to every breath, and every sound he makes. He lays his head on Benji’s chest periodically, listening carefully to his lungs and heart. He can hear Benji’s heart growing weaker as the rattle in his lungs gets louder.

Still, Benji holds on through the night. He makes it to the following morning, and then to the afternoon. It’s early that evening that Luther gets a call from headquarters.

“We’re good,” he announces to the room, scrambling for the keys to the van. “We’re going. 

Ethan doesn’t need to be told twice. He immediately slides his arms beneath Benji’s frame, intending to carry him out, but he can’t. His ribs and back are screaming at him, and his legs can barely manage his own weight.

“I’ve got him,” Brandt says, lifting Benji himself.

“Come on,” Luther says to Ethan, wrapping a supportive arm around his waist. “Lean on me.”

Jane rushes to Brandt and wraps a warm blanket around Benji, who doesn't even stir. It’s dangerous to move him this way, but they have no choice. They settle in their van, Luther behind the wheel and the others in the back, no one wanting to leave Benji by opting for the front. 

Benji's hand is clasped in both of Ethan’s as he whispers reassurances, not sure if they are intended for Benji or him. It's almost over. He just wishes he was sure that they're not too late...

The nearest hospital is in Vancouver, which their safehouse is just on the outskirts of. No traffic law is sacred, but Benji’s breaths are almost nonexistent now.

Ethan keeps his eyes on him the whole time, not wanting to even blink for fear of missing something. Benji is too still for comfort, but he’s alive, and Ethan will take it for now.

They must be nearing the hospital when his breath catches. When he exhales, it’s long and final. He doesn’t draw another.

Ethan touches the wrist of the hand he’s holding, keeps readjusting his grip to find his pulse, but there isn’t one to be found

“Benji?” Ethan asks softly. He sounds and feels an awful lot like a frightened child. He watches Brandt practically lunge forward, check for a pulse on Benji’s throat, and immediately start chest compressions when he can’t find one.

There is not enough room in the van for both Brandt and Jane to work on Benji. As Brandt is frantically trying to revive Benji, Jane ends up holding Ethan.

Ethan feels weak. His exhaustion is catching up to him, though he doesn't see any reason to fight anymore. It has all been a repetitive loop, reviving Benji, only to watch him suffer more and then to inevitably lose him. Over and over again. There is nothing he can do.

You’ve already done enough.

Benji’s faced the worst of their enemies – hell, he’s been kidnapped by one of them. Attacked, beaten, shot at, hanged, and yet fate has decided he should finally succumb to pneumonia…and Ethan is the cause of all of it.

Killed by the person he trusted the most. By the person who loved him the most.

Ethan doesn't want to watch this again, but he can't look away. He needs to hold Benji. Needs to say goodbye, even though Benji won't hear him. He starts to struggle in Jane's hold, but his attempts are too feeble. Pain erupts in his torso as he tries to twist out of her grip, an effort that proves futile anyway. He vaguely remembers her telling him that she’d made some stitches there.

“Ethan, for fuck’s sake,” Jane snaps, trying to hold him still, lest he cause himself more damage, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Nothing will ever matter again.

They’re close to the hospital now, but Benji is so still beneath Brandt. Like a ragdoll, Ethan remembers thinking before.

Benji’s limp body moves only from the force of Brandt’s compressions, just like before. Brandt is yelling, pounding his fist on Benji’s chest, just like before. The scene before him is surreal, and Ethan is fighting to stay present, to not go numb.

Ethan pulls against Jane again, unwilling to let Benji be taken away before he can kiss him goodbye, but he’s so weak. So tired. His side is burning, and he only succeeds in making it worse.

I’m so sorry, I’m so, so fucking sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Ethan’s own vision begins to darken around the edges. The last four days have been a sort of continuous adrenaline rush, but he seems to finally be crashing. Brandt gives Benji two breaths as they reach the hospital and stops working on him.

To carry him inside, he thinks. This is it. 

He watches Brandt climb out of the back before scooping Benji into his arms. He shouts something as he approaches the entrance. Ethan's head is beginning to feel heavy.

“Ethan,” Jane says from somewhere above him, and everything goes black.

Chapter Text

Ethan opens his eyes, only to be blinded by the fluorescent lights above his head.

He shuts them immediately and allows himself to acclimate gradually, tuning into his senses one at a time. He feels warm, safe. He flexes his fingers, then his toes. Painless. Alive? He’s not sure.

Benji.

He opens his eyes once again to find that Benji is not here. Jane and Luther are sat by his bed, however, both looking exhausted beyond belief. It takes Ethan a second to realize that he is in a hospital, presumably the one they’d driven Benji to.

His breath hitches in his throat as his memory catches up to date, catching the attention of his friends.

"Hey." Jane leans forward and takes Ethan’s hand in her own. “How do you feel?”

Ethan shakes his head, unable to articulate an answer or speak at all around the lump in this throat. How is he supposed to feel?

His face crumples, telling her everything she needs to know. She shares a look with Luther.

“Ethan,” she says softly, her eyes wide, silently imploring him to relax and breathe.

He shakes his head again and tries to remember Benji's smile. His laugh, the way his eyes used to shine, brightening everything around him. Listening to Benji's heartbeat when he slept securely in Ethan's arms... how different that had been from the last time he’d listened, expecting it to stop at any moment.

He doesn’t notice that his eyes have filled with tears until Jane squeezes his hand.

“Ethan, look at me,” Jane says. He complies slowly.

He’s suddenly overwhelmed with how frightened and lonely he feels, and then both emotions are accompanied by guilt. This isn’t about him. Benji is dead. He isn’t the only one who’s just lost someone.

No space had ever felt cold or lonely when Benji shared it with him, but now the only space he’ll ever occupy again was in a box in the ground. Ethan had never even gotten to say goodbye.

“Benji is in the intensive care unit.”

Ethan's brain short-circuits.

"They pumped the fluid from his lungs and have him on life support. They say it's a miracle that he made it this far with everything that happened to him.”

Ethan widens his eyes. She gives his hand another squeeze.

"The doctors say they can't make any promises. They don't seem very hopeful, but hey, when have the odds been on our side?"

He stares at her. “Jane, he was…”

Jane swallows hard. “He was. They almost didn’t get him back.”

Ethan feels dizzy. So little time together, but it’d been filled with so much love. Could they have been granted some more?

“How bad are his injuries?” Ethan asks. “Has his fever broken?”

"His spine is broken. Some of the bones shattered, they think, from the initial impact of the accident - they called it an axial burst fracture. Severe concussion, but they’ll be able to better assess that better if he - when he wakes up.”

Ethan shivers. Benji had growled at having his back rubbed, he remembers that. Cloudy eyes, an injured brain.

“Three of his ribs are smashed,” she continues. “The heart massages we had to do... didn’t help. Some of his internal organs are bruised. They’re surprised the shock didn't kill him. 

“Can I see him?” He asks without missing a beat, though his head is buzzing with a nauseating intensity.

“You’re busted up too, you know,” Luther finally says.

"I need -," Ethan starts, then stops. He needs what, exactly? To tell Benji he loves him one more time? Apologize for the millionth time? Finally say goodbye because no one seems to believe he's going to make it?

He steadies himself with a breath. "I need to see him.”

"He’s on life support right now,” Luther reminds him. “Visits are restricted.”

His face falls, and he supposes he must look as miserable as he feels, because Luther’s face softens immediately, and he leans forward. “He’s very sick.”

Ethan could smack himself for being so goddamn selfish, for forgetting that what he wants isn’t necessarily what’s best for Benji.

He tries not to think about the fact that he won’t want to see him, anyway. At least, not when he learns the truth of that night.

“I’ll tell you what,” Luther continues. “Once his fever breaks and he’s breathing a little better, they’re moving him to a private room. I’ll take you to him myself, then. Is that okay?”

It’s not okay. He needs to see Benji, immediately if not sooner, warm and breathing and alive, but Benji is still so ill. He toys with the idea of sneaking, but one downward glance promptly quiets it.

He reminds himself that those rules are in place for Benji’s protection. This hospital is keeping him safer than Ethan ever has.

Despite himself, Ethan nods. “Alright.”

…

So little time.

Ethan’s never had any illusions about the guarantee of tomorrow, but after Kashmir…that was what pushed him to make the move, a reminder of how their lives can end at any moment. And they can't waste whatever precious time they have left. Still, Ethan didn't think it could be that little time. He wasn't ready. Still isn't.

"You can't possibly be ready for something like this.”

Luther’s voice is as gentle as the hand he lays his hand on his shoulder. Ethan blinks, only now realizing that he must have said some of that out loud. He blames whatever pain medication they have him on.

“What if he doesn’t make it?” Ethan whispers.

There’s so much they haven’t done yet, and so much Ethan wants to do more of. He wants to press more kisses into the crook of his neck, to nuzzle his face there while they slept. More missions accomplished, more lazy mornings after, more Benji.

At the very least, he needs to tell Benji the real reason his cover was blown. That this isn’t his fault.

He remembers, again, Benji’s last coherent words to him, and reminds himself that those weren’t his very last words – those were fevered and delirious and apologetic. What had he seen in his dreams?

Luther looks down at his lap. “He’s fighting with everything he’s got. Wouldn’t have lasted this long if he wasn’t.”

Ethan doesn’t doubt that. Grief settles inside of him anyway, heavy and unbearably cold.

…

The door opens again, letting in a worn-out looking Brandt. He raises his eyebrows at Ethan. Exhaustion lines his face, and he can’t help but notice how much heavily he’s weighed down by it.

"Look, Ethan, I..." he rubs the back of his head. He's not very good at this, but he has to say it. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I was scared, still am. I can imagine what you must feel like... I'm sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he murmurs, the days-old sting having long since faded. His stomach twists. He doesn’t feel he’s owed an apology at all, but especially not from Brandt, who loves Benji as much as he does. Who, along with Jane, brought Benji home to him, and who fought for Benji’s life when he couldn’t.

“Thank you. For finding him, and for...”

He lets himself trail off. It doesn't need to be said.

Brandt swallows hard, and nods at him again. “This isn’t all your fault, you know. I just had word with headquarters for taking so damn long.”

Ethan chuckles. He can’t help it; it’s so very, very Will. It doesn’t miss him, however, how strained Brandt sounded while saying it. Like forcing himself to say that. Or maybe forcing himself to feel that. He still largely avoids eye contact with Ethan, something still isn’t right. Ethan is not pushing it, because he knows Brandt is right to feel like that.

This is all his fault. He’d given Benji the wrong information, might as well have sent him away to be killed, and then crashed the car, all while trying to get him to safety. His Benji, bleeding in the snow for almost a day and a half. He wonders what must have been going through Benji's mind then. Did he hope to be found and rescued? Did he wait for Ethan to come for him? Or did he think that everyone abandoned him, all alone, injured and bleeding in the freezing cold?

He needs Benji. Needs to be by his side, to make sure he's warm and comfortable and not hurting, but all he can do is wait and pray that his lungs start to heal.

Ethan’s head is buzzing now. How long had it taken to bring him back this time? Could Benji recover from the pneumonia but still succumb to his injuries? There’s one question, though, that’s been shouting from the back of his mind since they found him.

“Brandt,” he says slowly. “You found him half a mile from the crash site?”

This doesn’t seem right. He knows the car had rolled, that Benji must have been thrown out of it, but... half a mile?

"Yeah.” Brandt wrinkles his forehead, as though this has perplexed him for the last few days as well.  "I don't know how he got there, but he - I think he had to have walked.”

Ethan shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

Why had Benji woken on the couch, delirious and desperate to find Ethan? He’d apologized, even. All while he was dying. It makes Ethan feel sick to his bones. He wonders, once again, if Benji had thought this was his fault. If he’d thought he wasn’t good enough, if he’s going to die thinking he wasn’t good enough.

He has to get better. He has to.

Ethan sleeps a little. Not well, not for very much at a time, but he tries to rest. The faster he recovers, the more easily he can be there for Benji.

No one is allowed to visit Benji yet, but he’s recovering about as well as can be expected.

“He’s fighting,” is Brandt’s answer whenever he asks. “They told me no news is good news in his condition, but he… he’s stable.”

As long as Benji's alive, Ethan can allow himself to hope, though he quietly braces himself for the reality that Benji may not want to be with him anymore.

He’s met with three bewildered faces when he says as much one day.

"Why wouldn't he want to be with you?" Jane asks. It still feels strange to her to talk about them being together.

“It’s my fault he’s in here,” Ethan mumbles. Jane relaxes marginally.

“You crash cars all the time,” she reasons with a little smile. “He said it himself. 

He knows she’s trying to draw a smile out of him too, but he pales a little instead. He’s not ready to talk about this now - he didn’t even intend to say as much out loud. Still, Benji is their teammate, their friend, and they deserve to know. He takes a deep breath and screws his eyes shut.

“Hey,” she adds, gentler this time. “Look at me. It was an accident.”

“Do you know why he was in the car with me? Why I was driving at all?” Jane shakes her head, and Brandt is paying attention now, starting hard from across the room.

“I had to rescue him... because I gave him bad intel,” he whispers.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Brandt exhale and look up at the ceiling.

"I was careless. Complacent. I didn't double-check the data, and Benji got made. I let him down. I failed him.”

"You made a mistake," Jane's hand lays on his shoulder. "We all make them. He’ll understand.”

Not your fault. 

It doesn’t matter what Benji said to him before he passed out, because he didn’t know the truth. And if he doesn’t want to see Ethan when he finds out, well... maybe that’s for the best. It would hurt like hell to lose him, but if it meant Benji wouldn’t have to go through this again, he can handle the pain.

He feels guilty again, for thinking of himself and for inadvertently eliciting sympathy. He hadn’t intended that at all. Jane is still speaking.

“Benji loves you a lot,” she continues. Brandt won’t even look at him. “I didn’t know about you two, but I know him.”

"He did say he thought everybody knew about his feelings," Ethan lets out a chuckle before forcing himself to get serious again. "I let him down.”

"You did," Brandt finally speaks, though he still wouldn't look at Ethan. "But things like this are... bound to happen. He knows that.”

“I don’t need to be with him,” Ethan lies after a long pause. “He just needs to be okay.”

“Oh, you shut it!” Brandt says sharply, finally snapping his eyes to him, “I don’t care about what you think you need. He’s going to need you. And you’re going to be there for him.” 

Ethan doesn’t answer him, because it is not a question. He sucks in a breath, and nods, which Brandt returns.

…

The next day goes much like this one did, and so does the one after that. After a few days, the swelling in Ethan’s legs has gone down enough for him to start therapy. Luther, Brandt, and Jane spend most of their time in Ethan’s room. Ethan asks the same question every day.

“How is he?”

“He’s fighting.”

Ethan keeps imagining Benji lying all alone, hooked to machines.

Does he know that he's completed his mission? Does he know that he's safe, that he’s loved?

These thoughts don’t leave Ethan alone, often keeping him awake at night.

How can he sleep when all he can think about is how scared Benji had been when he’s woken on the couch? About how badly his chest and back must have been hurting him, and how much harder that made it to breathe?

“Do you think he’s in pain?” Ethan asks quietly one day.

Brandt frowns. Benji is unconscious, but not sedated. “I don’t know.”

Ethan swallows. He needs to know. Needs to see Benji, to hold his hand, to look into those blue eyes and tell him everything will be fine.

"Do you think he'll be mad at me?" he suddenly asks Brandt one day. "When he finds out it's all my fault?"

Brandt shakes his head with an unreadable expression. "I don't think he's capable of being mad at you at all.”

He sounds almost disappointed with the fact as he's saying it.

Ethan supposes this should make him feel better, but he swallows the lump in his throat and feels worse, more aware than ever that he doesn’t deserve Benji. Not at all.

“No, you don’t,” Brandt agrees without looking at him. 

It’s been a week and a half, nearly two weeks, since Brandt carried a lifeless Benji into the emergency room. The memory is still burned into the front of Ethan’s brain, to be relived whenever he closes his eyes.

…

Brandt enters the room with a smile, all the gloom of the past days all but evaporated.

“He’s breathing on his own,” he tells them, rushed and breathless with relief. “They’re moving him to a private room later today.”

Ethan springs up at that. "Does it mean I can see him?" he asks, wincing inwardly at how timid he sounds.

"Yes." Brandt smiles at him for the second time in the past two weeks.

Ethan grows nervous as the next few hours pass, unable to think about anything but seeing Benji again. He tries to picture how it will go, what he'll say.

He can’t help but fantasize about Benji waking up and smiling at him, the way his eyes would crinkle just so. The way his smile would be audible in his voice as he tells Ethan that it’s all okay now and they can go home.

“He’s not awake yet,” Jane reminds him and gives his knee a gentle rub.

Luther keeps the promise he made two weeks ago; just a few hours after Brandt’s announcement and brief argument that Ethan loses, he is being taken to Benji’s room in a wheelchair. Ethan's heart thuds against his ribcage as they approach the door and enter.

He is completely motionless, save for his breathing, the sheets covering him almost tan compared to his skin. There’s a mask over his mouth and a rigid collar bracing his neck. Those details are all secondary to the memory of blue, oxygen-starved flesh – only a memory now, but it’s all Ethan can see when he closes his eyes.

They’d brought Benji back to life, back to him for the second time. All Ethan can do now is beg whatever deity, whatever forces of nature are listening to let him stay.

Luther wheels him closer, until he’s next to the bed. “I thought he was breathing on his own,” he murmurs.

“I think he had a tube before.”

His hands twitch, nerves fluttering as he tries to figure out what to do with himself now that he’s finally here. He wants to press his forehead against Benji’s, and run his fingers through his hair, and cover his face with kisses and tell him that it’s alright, they’re alright, you’re alright. Another look at the cervical collar, however, stills his hands.

Carrying him and sitting him up had almost certainly caused him more harm but was, like the extra pressure on his ribs, necessary.

Ethan reminds himself of all of this, but it does little to dull the ache in the pit of his chest. He takes one of Benji’s hands gently in both of his own, sliding his fingers to feel the pulse there, and watches him breathe. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs.

Luther gives his shoulder a squeeze before respectfully stepping out.

"You've missed a few things, you know. They know about us now, Brandt and Jane and Luther. They're taking it well.” Brandt's stern features come to his mind, and he swallows “... For the most part.”

He’s trying to sound casual, as though they were discussing their plans for the weekend or holed up in his apartment writing their reports. One glance at Benji halts all those attempts.

He presses Benji's hand to his face and holds it there. It's warm. Alive.

He keeps Benji’s palm held to his cheek, strokes his knuckles. No longer freezing to death, no longer burning up. Just warm.

He wants nothing more than to crawl into Benji’s bed and just hold him, curl around him, dare everyone and everything around them to try and hurt him again. He can’t, of course. It feels selfish to even think about.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Ethan says suddenly. He lowers Benji’s hand from his cheek and lifts it to his mouth, kissing the palm. “I’m sorry, Benji. God, I’m so sorry.”

There is, of course, no response. Another stone lodges itself in Ethan’s chest.

He takes in the sight in front of him once again. The mattress Benji's laid on is stiff and solid, no doubt intended to protect his spine from further injury, though he can’t imagine that it’s very comfortable.

Gingerly, so as not disturb his head and neck, Ethan lays his own head on the pillow. He wants to bury his face in Benji’s neck, or lay on his chest to hear his heartbeat, but his ribs are broken as well.

He’d spent most of the week in that safehouse with his head on Benji’s chest. Had he hurt him more? Made it harder for him to breathe? The very thought is enough to make him shiver.

…

“We didn’t expect him to make it this far,” a doctor tells Ethan later on. “By that measure, he’s doing well.”

The implication there isn’t lost on him. He swallows hard, and wills his voice to sound stronger than he feels. "Is he going to make a full recovery?"

"It's too early to talk about that," she replies with a sad but polite smile. "We'll be able to tell more if he wakes up. The sooner the better.”

If he wakes up. He's used to the uncertainty by now, but it doesn't hurt any less.

Ethan spends pretty much every spare moment at Benji’s side, leaving only for sleep and physical therapy. Even then, he has to be bullied into it.

“Now, what’s Benji going to do to us when he wakes up and you look like that?” Brandt asks him. “You need to rest a little.”

 He doesn’t like it, but he also doesn’t suppose he can argue.

“I’ll see you soon,” Ethan murmurs every single time he leaves. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

He can't hold back the tremble in his voice. When he sleeps, he is plagued by nightmares of waking up in the morning, only to learn that Benji has left him for good.

…

He sleeps by Benji’s side often as his own body heals, either sharing his pillow or resting his head on the mattress next to Benji’s hand. Nearly a week has passed when he wakes to an odd sensation of a soft touch against his face.

He opens his eyes and is about to lift his head up from the mattress when he realizes that the touch he feels is the gentle brush of Benji's knuckles against his cheek.

Ethan’s heart skips a beat, but he chooses to savor this for just a moment before sitting up. His eyes meet the gorgeous blue ones gazing at him from the pillow. Benji is grinning madly at him, that smile that easily outshine the sun itself, even when it’s obscured by an oxygen mask. Ethan lifts his own hand to Benji’s face.

“You’re awake,” he whispers, more for himself than anything else. For that little corner of his brain that hadn’t expected Benji to make it.

Benji is awake and wrinkling his eyebrows at him, an expression with which Ethan is intimately familiar. Benji had made it.

It pains him to shake his head no, don't try to speak, just breathe. “Don’t you worry about anything but breathing.”

He leans in slowly, drops a kiss onto Benji’s hair. “We did good. Everyone is fine.”

Benji's breath hitches slightly as his eyes focus on Ethan's. Ethan gives him a watery smile in return.

"You got very sick, but you’re getting better now. You’re alright. Everything’s alright.”

He looks away for a moment, bracing himself to reveal the reason he is here, so hurt and so ill. He takes a deep breath, only for it to catch in his throat as soon as his eyes find Benji’s once more. Questions, concern, love. So much love and it’s all directed at Ethan, who deserves none of it.

“I don’t know what you remember,” he says instead and pauses for a breath. “But you need to know that it wasn’t your fault, not even a little. You were perfect.”

Benji seems to relax a little at that. He can't help but lean down and kiss his head a second time.

"God, I’ve missed your eyes." It sounds as corny as he thought it would, but then Benji cracks a smile and it doesn’t matter anymore.

Benji’s knuckles are stroking his cheek again, the motion slow and weak. It makes Ethan want to cry, when his vision blurs and he realizes that he already is. Another tear slips down his cheek, which Benji brushes away. The smile beneath the mask fades; he knows something isn’t right.

The question shines in his eyes once more. Before Ethan can say anything more, however, they’re interrupted by a soft knock on the door frame.

“Oh my god!” Jane says, her face lighting up as she sees Benji’s.

It takes a few seconds before Benji finally moves his concerned gaze from Ethan and to Jane, trying once again to smile. Brandt and Luther walk in next, and it's only then that Benji remembers to pull his hand away from Ethan's face. Ethan, however, is stroking Benji's hair gently.

"I'm sorry, Benji," he whispers with a new kind of guilt in his expression. "They know.”

Benji’s eyes widen a bit. His cheeks color pink ever so slightly, though he’s so pale that it hardly makes a difference. Jane shakes her head.

“Don’t be mad at him,” she says. “You were in such bad shape, and Brandt and I put you on the couch so we could hover... there really was no hiding it.”

Benji doesn’t look mad at all, though, least of all at Ethan. The moment passes quickly, and Benji is back to touching his face with all that tender concern. Ethan hasn’t stopped stroking his hair.

“You need to do your therapy,” Luther practically apologizes. “I’ll bring you right back when you’re finished.”

Ethan shakes his head. This is ridiculous. Benji just woke up, smiled at him, is looking at him... how can he possibly leave?

Benji's eyes go wide at the mention of therapy and he stares at Ethan, fear blossoming from concern.

"Okay, it’s okay,” he murmurs. “Just a little banged up, nothing to worry about.”

Benji looks from him to somewhere above him, and he can sense Luther standing behind his back. Benji manages a nod in his direction.

“Quicker you go, the quicker you can come back here,” Luther reasons, resting a hand on his shoulder. Ethan deflates slightly, runs his hand a few more times over Benji’s hair before kissing his forehead one final time.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promises, reluctant to go but eager to get it over with so he can get back. Don’t go anywhere, okay?

He throws one last look over his shoulder before he’s wheeled over the threshold. Behind him, Brandt settles in the chair next to Benji, keeping him company in Ethan’s absence.

"Do you think we can try talking? One tap for yes?” He suggests brightly, the last thing Ethan hears as Jane clicks the door shut behind them.

…

Ethan finishes his exercises quickly as promised, but Benji has fallen asleep by the time he gets back.

“He’s worried about you,” Brandt informs him, rubbing the back of his neck while rising from the chair, allowing Ethan to reclaim his spot “Although he doesn’t remember much.”

Between the head injury and the fever, Ethan isn’t surprised, but the cold dread that settles behind is ribs is almost reflexive by now. “How much?”

Brandt lets out a long breath. “He remembers waking up.”

Ethan frowns. “Not the accident?”

Brandt shakes his head and shifts his gaze back to Benji. “He’s worried about you,” he repeats.

Ethan sets his jaw tightly, then looks at Benji, whose eyes are closed in sleep as if he hadn't woken up at all. The ever-present fear that Benji won’t wake up again burns in his gut. He ignores the sensation with little success.

"You need to tell him what happened. He needs to hear it.”

A frown settles on Benji's face. Ethan wonders if he’s having a nightmare and can’t help but notice that doesn't look comatose anymore. He looks more alive than before. The most, in fact, since they first laid him on the couch nearly two weeks ago.

"Okay," Ethan whispers, "I’ll tell him.”

Brandt nods, and stays for a little while longer. He watches Ethan scoot closer and lay his head on Benji’s pillow, whispering words that Brandt can’t make out. Soothing nothings, he assumes. Benji calms almost immediately.

He keeps watching as Ethan strokes Benji’s hair, presses soft kisses to his temple. When Ethan falls asleep on Benji’s pillow, he leaves - he doesn’t have the heart to try and make him move.

…

Ethan wakes up first this time, just a few hours after he’d fallen asleep, and resolves to stay awake. He wants to be present when Benji wakes up this time, and he wants to watch over and soothe him in the meantime.

He watches Benji sleep, taking note of every twitch and tiniest shudder. They are all signs of life. Signs that Benji is here with him.

My Benji...

Ethan wonders if he can still call him that, even to himself.

Another hour passes before those eyes flutter open again, this time while he’s awake to see it. Benji's face twists in distress and his hand twitches.  Ethan takes it into his own, his grip gentle but firm. “Are you hurting?” There is a confused pause and Ethan mentally curses at himself. “Uh... One tap for yes?”

Benji only squeezes his hand gently in response instead of answering. Ethan opts to let him be, at least for now.  “Benji, there’s something I need to tell you,” he says and then hesitates, suddenly much less prepared to do the right thing, to lose Benji than he was just a moment ago.

He doesn’t realize he’s spaced out until Benji squeezes his hand again. Ethan looks up, into his eyes. They won’t shine for him anymore, not like they used to. Right now, they’re just wide.

He’s panicking, Ethan realizes. He’s worried about me.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, don't worry, just breathe. Everything is fine," he pauses and feels Benji squeeze his hand tighter. "Well, I mean, it's not actually, but..."

Benji's eyes are trying to read his, to find answers to questions he can't even ask. Ethan wants to kiss him, to soothe all of his pain, to curl around him and make sure he's safe.

He can't do any of that, not now. After what he's going to say, he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to again.

"I don't know how much you remember... we were on a mission. Trying to find anything on this arms dealer, Roger Mason. You were undercover, but your cover got blown.”

Benji blinks tightly, prompting Ethan to go on. "Do you remember aborting? Right after your meeting with him?"

Benji thinks visibly hard for a few moments, and then holds his other hand up, palm parallel to the ground as he rotates his wrist a few times. Sort of.

Ethan doesn't want to do this, but Benji looks pained. Guilty, even. Benji looks so vulnerable in this moment, so readable. Ethan knows that if he could speak, he would be apologizing for screwing it all up. That's why Ethan has to do this.

"You did everything right." Ethan begins to stroke the back of Benji's hand. "You told him you were one of Diaz's men, just like we talked about. Do you remember?" He asks, referring to the leader of a local ring of organized crime, and one of Mason's closest allies. Benji turns his palm around so it’s above Ethan’s, and taps his finger against it. He remembers that part, too.

"What I didn't know - what I didn't tell you - is that there is no Diaz anymore. Not for a few months now... and when you told them you were close to him, you blew your cover sky-high."

Benji stares at him, expression unreadable, as he tries to process what he's just been told.

"I came in for you," Ethan continues. "As soon as I realized what I'd done. And then I crashed the car."

A lump begins to form in Ethan’s throat as his vision blurs. "I was careless on both accounts. Complacent. And I’m the reason you’re here and I… I’m sorry, Benji. I’m so sorry.”

His fingers are squeezed gently. Benji is still looking at him with the same expression, sad and pained, even more so than before.

"Don’t you understand? I'm the reason you're here. I got you ki- I got you hurt.”

Benji's still holding his hand. He pulls at it and draws it to his face, nestling his cheek in Ethan's palm.

Ethan resists the urge to pull his hand away. This is wrong. Benji shouldn’t want anything to do with him. He shouldn’t be worried about him, and he sure as hell shouldn’t be trying to comfort him.

“Benji, you almost froze to death,” Ethan tells him quietly, leaving out that Benji had been left there while Ethan was being treated, that Benji had frozen to death.

He nuzzles his cheek against Ethan’s hand. “You can be angry with me, you know. You should be. You shouldn’t want me anywhere near you.”

Benji lifts his own hand and touches Ethan's, his eyes growing infinitely sadder as though that very notion pains him to consider.

In spite of himself, Ethan reaches out and brushes his thumb against Benji's temple. He watches the lines on Benji's forehead ease a little. He looks content.

"Do you... want me to stay?" Ethan asks him slowly. He tries not to let the utter disbelief show plainly on his face, but he doesn’t understand how Benji can want him here. How, after everything that’s happened, Benji can still gaze up at him like he’s the sun, moon, and stars.

Tears begin to well in his eyes, making Benji’s expression morph to something pained. He sets Ethan's hand down in his lap and reaches for the mask on his face. Ethan moves to stop him.

"No," Ethan says firmly. "Don't even try."

Benji lets his hand fall back into his lap and looks frustrated. He's obviously got so many words, so much that needs to be said, but he can't. Ethan realizes that he's adding to Benji's stress and feels another stab of guilt. The last thing he needs is more stress.

"I'll stay," he murmurs instead, stroking his temple with his thumb. Benji seems to relax again. "I love you, Benji. So much. I'm so, so sorry."

Benji reaches for him again and brushes yet another tear from his cheek before reaching out with his other hand. He seems content to cradle his face for a moment before tugging him closer, closer, until Ethan’s forehead is touching his own.

This should do for now.

…

As promised, he remains at Benji’s side as much as he possibly can.

He leaves only for therapy, and when Jane insists that he sleep in a bed, which isn’t often these days.

It’s not long before Ethan has healed up almost completely. By his final week of physical therapy, he is no longer dependent on a wheelchair. It’s nice, the ability to travel much for freely than before, but the real gift is seeing Benji’s face light up when he enters his room on foot for the first time.

The stab of panic he feels when Benji’s mask is missing from his face one morning is reflexive. It’s not until after he’d rushed to Benji’s side to check his breathing, that he realizes Benji is awake and smiling at him.

“Morning,” Benji croaks.

Benji's voice, weak and hoarse as it may be, is simply intoxicating.

He wants nothing to more than to kiss that smile he’s missed so much, but something his holding him back.

All you do is get him hurt 

Benji takes his hand. "I love you, Ethan," he croaks again. "So much. God, I’ve been wanting to say that since -.” He’s interrupted by harsh, wet coughs and can’t finish.

Ethan drops his hand and lays his palm on Benji’s chest instead. Benji shakes his head as he catches his breath, promptly taking Ethan’s hand once again and lifting it to his cheek. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I’m okay.”

Ethan shakes his head and looks away. “I love you too,” he whispers.

Benji’s eyes are shining with adoration, just like they always did for him, something he thought he might never see again.

“It’s okay,” Benji repeats, interrupting the loathing and guilt flooding every corner of Ethan’s brain. Ethan shakes his head because no, it’s not okay, Benji died.

“I was careless,” he says instead.

"You did what you thought was best." Benji is interrupted by another coughing fit, until he can choke out the rest of he wants to say. "That’s all anyone can ask of you.”

"My mistakes almost cost you your life," Ethan argues. He recalls those moments when he thought it actually had and clenches his teeth against the memories.

"It's okay, Ethan," Benji repeats. "Though I'm surprised that you're better at handing the cold than I am, seeing how...out of the two of us, I'm the one who caught pneumonia."

He doesn't notice how pale Ethan goes at that.

"Though you've always been better at everything, so that's fair," he continues with a chuckle, which quickly becomes another coughing fit.

Ethan squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep his worry at bay as he listens to Benji cough and struggle for breath. They snap open again when he can't shoo away the memories of the last time he'd heard his voice in the safe house, nearly as weak as it is now, fighting for every breath until he couldn’t breathe at all…

No. They're not in the safe house. Benji is recovering in the hospital. He’s here. He’s getting better.

How can Benji lay there and sing his praises when he can hardly speak without choking on coughs? It makes Ethan so angry that he wants to hit something, that someone like him should be allowed to deserve Benji's love.

Why does he have so much of it to give to him when all he does is get him hurt?

He doesn't realize how tense he's gotten until he realizes that Benji is calling his name. Gentle but firm, like trying to coax an angry child to communicate.

"Ethan, please tell me what's wrong," he almost pleads.

Ethan swallows hard.

"I'm not better at handling cold than you are, Benji." His voice is low. "In fact, you know, I'm pretty bad at it. I freeze immediately." He tries to force a smile, but his lips merely twitch instead. Benji raises an eyebrow, partly confused and partly disturbed.

"The reason why you got sick and I didn't is that..." He pauses for a shaky breath. Benji deserves the truth, the whole truth about what happened that night. He can do this for him.

"After the crash, Jane and Brandt found me almost straight away. But... I was unconscious, so I couldn't let them know that they needed to look for you as well. You were out there for over a day before they found you.

Benji widens his eyes slightly, though his gaze remains intently focused on Ethan.

“I asked them where you were,” he continue, breathless. “As soon as I woke up I asked, and they found you, and they felt awful. You were blue.”

“Oh, Ethan.”

"They brought you to the safe house, but they couldn't feel your pulse at first and we thought...," Ethan trails off. "And I couldn't even help. I got you into that situation and I couldn't do anything to help you.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, then feels a soft touch on his cheek. "Ethan,” Benji repeats and then pauses, no doubt choosing his next words carefully. “I… understand what that must have felt like for you.”

He doesn’t name the torus incident in Morocco, but Ethan knows anyway.

“I know,” he continues, “but it’s okay now.”

"It's not okay, Benji." Ethan's struggle to keep his voice even is lost. "You were... all blue and cold, and then you died. And I didn't even say goodbye".

Benji’s brow wrinkles.

“Your heart stopped.” Ethan’s trying to sound gentle, at least, but his voice cracks. He reaches for Benji’s cheek, half-expecting Benji to recoil from his touch, but Benji places his hand atop Ethan’s. “In the safe house, the first time, and Brandt and Jane... the second time was in the van. On the way here. You were still dead when Brandt carried you inside.”

Benji licks his lips. "I'm here now, Ethan. Not going any-,"

Another violent cough erupts from him, making Ethan shudder.

"We couldn't go to the hospital straight away, because I'd messed up and Mason's men were after us. We had to stay at the safe house and hope we wouldn't be found there. We had to sit there and watch you die, and I - it was like I was slowly killing you."

He shuts his eyes and he's back there, listening to Benji struggle for breath while his heartbeat fades to nothing.

That was the worst of it, for Ethan, listening to Benji’s heart falter. The entirety of what happened will never leave him, but this was different. He’s seen plenty of loved ones die, but it had never been so intimate.

“Ethan -,” Benji interrupts his memories, but his voice is broken by another ragged cough. Ethan opens his eyes to meet Benji’s pained blue ones.

“Ethan... I know,” Benji manages after catching his breath. “I know what you’re feeling.” He lifts his own hand to Ethan’s cheek and strokes with his thumb, tries to pour all of his love into that small gesture. “Please, trust me. It’s okay.”

"I had to watch you die in my arms. " Ethan can't stop talking, while Benji falls silent. "I watched you dying slowly, and it was my fault. We couldn't get you help, and that was my fault.”

"And I made it. We made it. It's okay. Everything is okay now.”

Ethan shakes his head, prompting Benji to roll his eyes.

"Fine, it's not okay. But it will be." He breaks into a cough yet again.

“I shouldn’t be making you talk like this.” He reaches for the call button. He can still hear Benji coughing violently in his sleep, until he couldn’t breathe at all. Benji reaches out, places a hand on his forearm to stop him.

“Ethan, do you want to... talk about what happened?” he asks gently.

"There's nothing left to say".

Benji raises his eyebrows and keeps looking at Ethan expectantly, until Ethan shakes his head again.

"God, Benji." His voice cracks. "You were dying, you died in my arms, and I was the reason it happened. I killed you. Even now, I'm talking to you and I just..." He takes a few harsh breaths, mustering the energy to continue. "... I can’t lose you.”

Benji looks horrified. He still hasn’t quite processed the fact that he died, but Ethan telling him that he killed him?

“Ethan Hunt,” Benji murmurs. “You made a mistake. A mistake that you did your very best to correct.”

“If I’d done my best, I wouldn’t have crashed the car. I wouldn’t have put you in a dangerous situation in the first place.”

Benji snorts at that. “This job is a dangerous situation! Our whole lives are trying to survive one dangerous situation so we can get to the next one!”

“You were so cold,” Ethan whispers. “I put my head on your chest to hear your heartbeat, and it just stopped. Just like that. What if I’d fallen asleep? What if I hadn’t been paying attention?”

Benji guides Ethan's hand to his chest and puts it over his heart.

"All better now.”

Ethan splays his fingers out, palm flat against his sternum to feel some of the rattle still inside. He can’t get past it, no matter how hard he tries.

"I should be the one making sure you get out of dangerous situations," Ethan mumbles. "Not getting you into them.”

“You can’t change what happened,” Benji says. Ethan tries to pull his hand away, but Benji holds it there firmly.

“Listen to me. You can’t change what happened,” he repeats, “but I’m here. And I love you, so much.”

Ethan’s whole face crumples.

I love you too, he wants to say, but how can he say that when he’d gotten Benji killed?

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers instead.

Benji looks hurt, and for a second Ethan wonders if he's getting worse again or if he maybe needs some painkillers.

"That's not your decision to make, Ethan," Benji whispers. "Unless you want to break up?” It seems like those words alone were painful to utter. "In which case, just… be honest with me.”

“No!”

Benji’s forehead wrinkles, he’s breathing faster as his face loses most of the color it’s gained since he began to recover.

This alarms Ethan and he wants to tell Benji that he needs to relax, but he’s the reason for his stress. He’s still hurting him, even now.

“God, Benji… I’m so sorry. I love you, more than anything, I just -,”

“I don’t know what to do,” Benji admits. “There’s nothing you can tell me about this mission that will make me love you any less. Don’t you see that?”

"Benji..." Ethan breathes, and just like that, his walls are down. He lowers his head onto the pillow and presses kisses to Benji's cheek. Benji’s breaths are finally beginning to slow down and even out.

Benji can’t quite manage to raise his arm enough to wrap it around Ethan the way he wants to, but he settles for resting a hand on his shoulder. “I need you.”

Ethan is covering the whole side of his face with kisses, temple to chin.

“I need you,” he replies between the kisses, “but you’re so important. So much more than just my Benji. What’s the world supposed to do if I take you out of it?”

Benji snorts again. "I think the world can handle it," he blurts out without thinking, and then sighs when he realizes that Ethan stilled at that. "Whatever you meant by what you said... You are not going to do that. And... a world where you are with me is worth protecting. I wouldn’t want to live in another one.”

He coughs again, left breathless just by that sentence.

Ethan strokes his hair as he settles and catches his breath. He's still watching Benji's chest and face, constantly on high alert for signs that he isn't breathing well enough. It's been routine since before they were able to leave the house, though Ethan supposes it’s become a habit by now.

He stays quiet, leaning forward as Benji’s breathing evens out. Angling his mouth toward Benji's, he takes care to move slowly enough for him to say no. When Ethan’s lips find his – something they haven’t been able to do in far too long – he eagerly kisses back.

"I'm sorry, Benji," Ethan murmurs once the kiss ends. "You should never have to go through this."

"Neither should you," Benji whispers back. His eyes are shining with that light again, the way they have always shone for Ethan. Ethan presses another light kiss to his lips.

He can't handle it. It's just too overwhelming to be able to kiss him again, to talk to him again, after watching him die not once but twice.

Benji watches him carefully for a moment after they break the kiss. Ethan is clearly healing from his own injuries, but his face is pale and drawn. “That chair can’t be comfortable.”

“It’s alright,” Ethan says, but before he can get the words out, Benji is scooting over a bit and giving the space next to him a little pat.

“S’okay, I’m not gonna break in half.”

He tries to sound strong and solid and reassuring, but the end of the sentence is broken off by more coughs. Ethan stares at him and doesn’t move.

“No.” Though it almost physically hurts to refuse, Ethan shakes his head. Benji rolls his eyes.

“You’re too hurt,” Ethan argues weakly.

“Please?”

Despite himself, Ethan smiles. He kisses Benji's cheekbone, still processing the fact that he is able to do so.

"You have a spine injury," he says firmly. "You shouldn't move or jostle your back in any way. I'll be right here until it gets better.”

Benji pouts. He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t look satisfied. He opens his mouth to speak before Ethan can even ask.

“You were telling the truth before, right? When you said you were found right away?”

Ethan nods, never taking his eyes off Benji's. "You were...pretty far away from the crash site when you were found. I still don't understand how you got there.”

Benji frowns. "I think I was... looking for you.”

Ethan pales. Benji keeps talking.

“I didn’t - I thought it wasn’t real. I didn’t think that was real. I woke up. and you were gone.”

Ethan exhales. “I’m sorry, Benji.”

“No, you haven’t done anything wrong. I dreamed that I was looking for you, in the dark. Only maybe it... wasn’t a dream?”

Ethan doesn't know how to answer. The fact that Benji was so far away suggests it wasn't a dream. But it means...

"You walked half a mile? With your injuries?" Ethan can't comprehend it. Can't even imagine.

"It didn't really hurt much," Benji tries to soothe. "I was just... so scared. For you. I - I was afraid I’d lost you.” A shudder runs through him at the mere thought.

Ethan tenses and tries not to let himself spiral again, but this revelation brings a new wave of guilt crashing down on him.

He reels it in, though he can’t suppress a shudder of his own.

He wonders if Benji had aggravated his injuries as he wandered farther and farther away, injured and cold and frightened for Ethan’s safety. He wonders if Benji might not have gotten so sick, if he might not have died, had he been found a little sooner, and all because he’d decided Ethan’s safety was more important than his own…

“Do you remember waking up in the safe house?” Ethan asks, remembering the way Benji had cried out for him in his sleep.

Benji frowns again. His eyes are searching Ethan's, as he'd find all the answers to his questions there.

"I remember nightmares. All the same. I – I couldn’t find you. All I could see was snow, and I couldn’t find you.”

He has to pause to catch his breath and coughs. "Why?"

Ethan sits up, lifts his hand to catch a tear from the corner of Benji’s eye. He cups Benji’s cheek with the same hand, ever so careful of his injured neck.

“Why?” Benji asks again, his eyes still locked with Ethan’s.

“You cried out for me,” Ethan says. “After your fever spiked, before you - before we took you in...God, I’m sorry, Benji. I’m so sorry.”

"Hey, no, Ethan, listen." Benji is slightly flustered, not really knowing how to react. "You don't need to apologize. Look at me.”

Ethan opens his eyes to look into Benji's, which are glistening with tears now, but are shining with that same, warm light.

"It's okay, Ethan," Benji whispers, smiling softly. "You're here, with me, you're okay. It means my nightmares were just that, just nightmares.”

Ethan nods, but his mind supplies him with nightmarish images that were very, very real. The nightmares he has actually lived through.

“Hey,” Benji says, kissing Ethan’s wrist before taking the hand off of his cheek. He holds Ethan’s hand in both of his own. “We made it, yeah?”

Barely. They barely made it. Benji barely made it.

“This won’t happen again,” Ethan says without really answering. “I’m going to keep you safe.”

Benji glares at him, incredulous but more amused than angry. Ethan shakes his head.

"We are going to keep each other safe," Benji murmurs, squeezing Ethan's hand in both of his own. "Or try our best, at least. I guess did a shitty job of it this time. Looking for you when you weren't even there and getting lost in the process..."

He’s trying to make light of it, to brush it off as he always does.

"I don't know about that," Ethan tries to joke back, but the words come out fast and too heavy, and his voice cracks just so on the last syllable. "I killed you, remember?"

His composure doesn't crumble, and he even manages a small smile.

Benji breathes a chuckle, and coughs. "I guess we're both bad at this, huh?"

"We are the worst," Ethan leans to gently kiss him again, as soft and tender as he can. Benji’s touch is warm and healing, salve on bruises that haven’t quite healed.

He hasn’t forgotten how fragile Benji had felt in his arms. The realization Benji will really and truly be alright is finally, finally beginning to sink in, a weight lifting from his chest.

Ethan had felt so helpless for so long that he’d lost count of all the tears he’s swallowed. It is only after that weight has lifted completely that he can recognize something else building there.

Ethan lays his head on the pillow and begins to weep.

“Ethan. Ethan, love,” Benji murmurs, but Ethan can’t speak, can’t do anything but submit to the onslaught of emotions that he can contain no longer.

Benji strokes his hair and quiets, whispering every bit of soothing nonsense he knows. He lets him let it all out, never once trying to shush him. Ethan’s sobs taper into whimpers, and then sniffles.

“It’s okay, my love. We’re okay.”

“You’re not okay.”

“I will be.”

Ethan sniffs, feeling absolutely pathetic, asking himself how many times Benji will have to tell him that before he finally believes it.

He longs to curl up beside Benji and bury is face in the crook of his neck, to lay his head on Benji's chest once again and listen to his heartbeat. He settles for the tickle of breath on the side of his face as Benji continues to try and soothe him. Benji’s finger tips against his forehead, rough and warm and alive.

The sniffles taper off too, while his breathing slows down and evens out. 

Benji only realizes that he’s fallen asleep after a few minutes have passed. He brushes Ethan's hair out of his face.

"I love you, Ethan Hunt," he whispers.

Ethan sighs, soft and relaxed, feeling warm for the first time in far too long.