Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The big hall is filled with the whirring, clashing, crushing and humming noise of mechanical parts grating against each other. Most of the lights are shut down, leaving only a few beacons of light cascading over the chunky metal robots. The robots look like mystical beings from someone’s nightmares as they whizz around. The assembly line next to which the many robots are placed is filled with grotesque metal carcasses, filling up the holes in their shiny skin with thick layers of silver. At the end of the line, the oval shapes go through a big, mouthlike hole into a solid looking metal block. Around the surface of the cube, cables and pipes are running alongside each other. A few warning lights flash when a new shape enters the cubic machine, ready to be prepared for the job it soon has to complete. The machine screeches loudly before a loud sigh fills the room, streams of air happy to finally leave the pressure of the machine.

In the middle of the hall, a small island of warm light is cast by two cozy lamps. Next to the lamps, a man is slumped on a chair with his feet resting easily on a table in front of him. His eyes are trained on the computer in front of him, on which a cat is playing the piano. His left hand is tapping an unknown beat on his thighs, while his right hand grabs another stick from a bowl in his lap. Suddenly, an incoming call pops up in the corner of the computer screen and the man starts. He quickly kicks his feet of the table and clicks the cat video away, just about catching the bowl that had sat on his lap before. A few salt sticks bounce of the bowl and into the rough rug under the desk. The man mutters something and sighs, before he accepts the call.

“You don’t have to hide it, we both know you were watching cat videos again,” a voice sounds tinnily. The man starts back and quickly lowers the volume of the headphones.

“Shut up, Leo. Like you would do something different,” the man says as he begrudgingly stands up.

“I am doing something else, mate. Those three glacial submarines that just went through the process were from an order that was received and sent through to the machines by me. Besides, I am doing most of Gary’s HR again.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You picked the best shift all those years ago while leaving me with the most boring one on the whole planet.” The man takes off his red jacket and hangs it on the back of the chair.

“You like the job, Adam, don’t lie to me,” Leo says.

“I know, I know, I do nothing and get paid more than most, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t boring.” Adam grabs a flashlight and walks around the table. He nearly stumbles over the electrical cord of one of the lamps but can catch himself just in time.

“You tripped over the electrical cord again, did you,” Leo says, not at all impressed.

“I definitely didn’t.”

“Sure. Just check the temperatures for me without injuring yourself, please.” Adam makes salutes to nowhere in particular and stalks towards the nearest block of metal, on which three robots are waving sporadically.

“Have I told you already about my new chapter?” Adam asks while he climbs the few steps next to the machine. He hears Leo sigh.

“No, you have not, but frankly I am not interested in your philosophical-“

“This time you are, I promise,” Adam interrupts him quickly.

“You told me that when you went rambling about a chicken, that time you tried to explain the hidden intricacies of people with superpowers playing chess and the countless other times you-“

“A1 reads 160 degrees and no, this time it’s different because this time it’s about food and everyone likes food, so you like food.” A very long and suffering sigh follows Adam as he walks towards the next machine.

“Sure, hit me,” Leo says and a grin forms on Adam’s face.

“A2 is 165 and listen up: bread is soup.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Soup is a warm liquid and bread dough can be considered a liquid so warm bread dough, which equals bread, is a warm liquid, is a soup!” Adam says triumphantly. Leo sputters something incomprehensible, but Adam ignores him, walks towards another machine and starts a long ramble about the four food groups and the ramifications of that classifying system.

While Adam checks the other machines, the line, which before had been overflowing with ruffling and Leo’s complaints, falls quiet. A soft static appears, but Adam doesn’t seem to notice it, as he keeps rambling. On Adam’s computer monitor, the cursor starts moving. It opens a tab and fills in the required passwords to enter the digital control of the facility.

“-and that is why this system is so genius. Because of the bread-being-soup-thing-”
“Sorry Adam, but bread is not soup. Bread is a baked food product made of flour or meal that is moistened, kneaded, and sometimes fermented and thus not soup,” Leo says, sounding pretty bored.

“What a way to ruin the mood,” Adam sighs, his face crestfallen.

“What did you do? Google it?” he grumbles, but he doesn’t get a response.

Suddenly, the assembly line quickens it’s pace, which makes the noise around Adam increase significantly.

“Leo? Are you doing that?” Adam asks, casting a worried glance at the whirring machines around him.

“I’ve done nothing but note the temperatures you give me,” Leo says, sounding not at all worried.

“Yeah right, so the assembly line sped up by itself?” Adam says skeptically while he hurries to the last machine, the big square, to check its temperatures.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Leo says and Adam curses as he looks at the thermometer on the big square.

“Stop fucking with me, man, something is definitely wrong. Big Maria is at least 20 degrees too hot and her temperature is steadily climbing.” Adam hurries away from the big machine and runs to his table.

“Everything is fine, Adam,” Leo says, a bit too forcefully. Adam looks at his screen and frowns. He opens the messenger app and immediately throws his headphones off his ears, having to slam his hands against them against the increased cacophony of sounds. The few messages are from Leo, who has asked a few times already if he’s ok, why he suddenly hang the phone and if he could call back. When suddenly an alarm starts ringing through the hall, just barely drowning out the struggling machines, Adam hesitantly puts one ear of his headphones against his ear.

“-just a test, nothing to be alarmed about,” Leo says.

“Leo, is that really you?” Adam asks, a slight tremble present in his voice.

“Off course, man, it’s me, who else would it be?” Leo asks while chuckling. Adam’s eyes get big and he stares at the headphone for a second before resolutely throwing them far away from the table. The smash of them hitting the ground gets overthrown by the increasingly desperate alarms that wail all around him.

“Leo never says ‘man’, I am the one who says ‘man’,” Adam mutters as he firmly sits down and starts rapidly typing away on the keyboard, flinching as he pulls his hands away from his ears.

Adam wipes away the sweat that has formed on his forehead and for a moment looks at it worriedly. Steam is gathering under the ceiling and Adam glances over his monitor to Big Maria, who is sighing and moaning and whose alarm lights are flickering bright red. Adam trains his eyes back to the monitor and resumes typing. The temperature of the room slowly heats up until Adam is huffing and puffing loudly. When suddenly the monitor turns off, Adam groans loudly.

“I’m so not getting paid enough for this,” Adam huffs, in an ill-fated attempt at flippancy. He does, however, try to turn his computer back on again. When that fails and a tearing sound rises above all the other racket, Adam lifts his hands in the air and tries to glare at the screen, but that supposedly fearsome glare is thoroughly undermined by the man’s heaving breaths and trembling hands.

An enormous bang sounds and Adam shrieks. He casts one shaky glance at the big machine, whose pipes are popping open like corn kernels in a searing hot pan, and jumps up. The chair falls back when it loses its fight against gravity, but Adam isn’t there anymore to witness it, as he dives by the table in a desperate attempt to get out of there.

His feet catch the tensioned cable of one of the lamps and Adam smacks forward. His head hits the corner off the table and the man slumps down, his limbs folding under him like a stringless marionette. While he lays there, a stream of blood slowly trickling past his wide, glassy eyes, the machine behind him explodes into a scorching ball off fire. The fire makes its way to Adam, screeching and raging as it speeds towards him, until it engulfs the dead man completely.

Chapter Text

Benji yawns loudly, which elicits a soft chuckle from his headphones.

“Hey, that you can run on zero sleep has nothing to do with poor Benji, who has been waiting, since the crack of dawn, mind you, for over three hours, with absolutely nothing to do, after only napping on the plane a bit. And while I get we have to do this a quickly as possible I still would have appreciated some time to calm down after I busying myself yesterday with being worried to death over you jumping of a mountain to land on a moving train and doing god knows what to get that key,” Benji says with power, but in a whisper.

“You are the one keeping me safe, Benji. That counts as ‘something to do’ doesn’t it?”

“All I do is look at a three-dimensional maze with about a hundred red dots and one blue one. It isn’t that exciting.”

“It won’t be long, I think I almost got them.” At that, both of Benji’s eyebrows shoot towards his hair.

“You have said the same thing an hour ago,” Benji deadpans.

“Yes, but-“

“And an hour before that as well,” Benji interrupts him as he zooms in on a red dot which is moving in a rather weird pattern a few floors above Ethan. He has just decided the dot isn’t worth his attention, when the dot suddenly disappears.

“Ehh, Ethan,” he says as he zooms out again.

“I almost got it Benji, I’m sure,” Ethan says with a strained voice.

“I sure hope so, Ethan,” Benji says as he watches more and more red dots disappear from his map. Benji sighs deeply and opens another tab where some lines of code are filling the screen, just as Ethan states:

“I found them and am walking towards the doors right now, is the hallway clear?”
“Well, yes on my screen it is, but-“ Benji doesn’t finish his sentence because he hears the sounds of a fight in his ears. Benji purses his lips and balls a hand in a fist. The grunting and dull thuds lessen and Benji lets out his breath. The blue dot on Benji ‘s screen the walk to the elevators and Benji starts typing rapidly just as Ethan gets in front of the doors.

“They are trying to push me out of the system, so I have lost track of almost everyone in the building,” Benji adds absentmindedly. He frowns at the screen and tries another line of code, but to no avail.

“I gathered,” Ethan huffs, but he doesn’t sound offended.

“You ok?” Benji asks while he tries another, longer line.

“Yeah, no damage on my side. Can you hack your way back into the system?” Ethan asks.

“I got control over the elevators and doors, but more than that will take a certain amount of time and effort that we do not have right now,” Benji says hastily.

“Ok,” Ethan just says and Benji can hear that he is thinking.

“Stop all the elevators as soon as I arrive downstairs,” he says.

“Will do.” As soon as Benji sees Ethan arriving at ground level, he locks all the shafts.

Then he raises his head and turns it towards the window of the car he is in. He strains his eyes to see Ethan walking from the elevator to the main entrance of the bland office building he’s parked in front of. He is holding a duffel bag, the strap stretching under its weight. Just as Ethan walks past the front desk, a group of four men hastily enter the hall. Benji opens his mouth, but Ethan has already seen the men. Or at least that must be the reason why Ethan immediately turns around and runs back to the elevators.

“Ethan? What the hell are you doing?” Benji shrieks as the four men start to sprint as well. Ethan rushes back into the elevator.

“Benji, open the elevator!”

“What? You should come back, you imbecile!” Benji says as he sees the men stride closer and closer to Ethan elevator.

“Benji.” Ethan says sternly and although Benji pierces his nose and groans loudly, he does what is asked of him.

“Now what?” he huffs angrily. It stays silent for a few seconds.

“Benji, lead me to Brandt’s office.” Ethan says and Benji rolls his eyes.

“Are you going to steal his precious set of mugs?” he snickers as he searches for Brandt’s office on the map, his fingers determined.

“No, off course not. I hid a speed wing into his desk a few months ago.”

“You did what? No, actually, don’t answer that. Take the second door on your right and then the third on your left,” Benji says as Ethan arrives at the right floor.

“Why?” he says as he trains his eyes on the blue dot.

“The door on the other side of the hallway will be from Brandt’s office. I’ll unlock it for you,” he adds quickly.

“Because if I would ever need to exit swiftly, I could,” Ethan answers the earlier question as he pushes the door open.

“You could have used the front door,” Benji grumbles, but Ethan doesn’t react. Suddenly a warning flashes in the corner of his screen and not even a second later, the blue blip on his screen stops blinking. Benji taps on the touchpad and tries a few keys, but it seems like his screen is frozen.

“Oh, those bastards,” he curses softly, but a light chuckle escapes him as well.

“What?”

“They are so desperate that they DDoS’ed my laptop,” he giggles as he closes his laptop.

“Is that good?” Ethan asks, puzzled.

“It means that my laptop has crashed. But I couldn’t do much anyway, and our comms are not connected to the laptop anymore so no big deal,” Benji says brightly , but he swallows and sends a quick glance to the building.

“So elevators are a no?” Ethan asks and he nods.

“Yes indeed.” Ethan sighs.

“I’ll take the stairs,” Ethan says and Benji grimaces, absentmindedly rubbing his legs.

“You wanted to run back into the building,” he states.

“I know, I know,” Benji rolls his eyes and relaxes a bit in his seat.

--..

Around about fifteen minutes later, a silent curse fills the air, followed by a grunt and a loud clang. After that, Ethan’s breaths get exponentially more labored, and the thuds of his steps become more rapid. Benji tosses the laptop on the back seat and buckles his seat belt on.

“What are you still doing there? Drive!” Ethan yells and his voice sounds a lot less echo-y so Benji can’t help to look up towards the roof of the building through the sun roof this car has for some reason.
“Where are you planning on landing?” Benji asks as he starts the car and quickly drives out of the parking spot he had vacated before.

“West! We-!” Ethan yells, but with the second ‘west’, the comms suddenly turn deadly quiet. Benji turns away from the sun and looks up one last time. He sees the blue wing unfolding and lets out a shuddering breath. Then he trains his eyes on the road, which is decidedly busier than a few hours ago. He checks the little note that’s taped to the fan for directions and speeds away. While he navigates to the city-center, he frantically checks his mirrors.

Suddenly his soul leaves his body from shock when something heavy thuds on the roof of his car. He yells and the car wavers a bit. When he looks up, he sees the face of a certain cocky super-spy squashed against the sun roof. For a brief moment, he just gapes, his mouth fallen open and his eyes big. Then Ethan raises his eyebrows and flicks his gaze to the handle of the sun roof. He focuses his attention back on the road (narrowly avoiding a badly parked car) and simultaneously tries to unlock the sunroof. The lock is, however, located on the far right of the car and therefore Benji has to stretch to reach it.

While he is struggling with it, he sees from the corner of his eyes that a black car is weaving in and out of the vehicles behind him. He leans back and quickly takes a sharp left turn to dive into a smaller street. He more feels than sees Ethan sliding on top of the car and when they have finished the turn, Ethan is suddenly hanging with his head upside down in front of the right window of the car instead of laying fully on top of it. Ethan uses one free hand to point to the lock of the sun roof and somehow manages to look threatening while he does so, even while hanging upside down and with thoroughly flushed cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” Benji yells as he avoids a woman who thought it would be smart to cross the road without looking. Benji puts the car on autopilot and ’get-away-from-cars-that-follow-us’-mode and unbuckles his seat belt. Just as he starts to carefully scoot over to the passenger’s seat, the car makes a sharp turn to the left.
Benji gets thrown through the car and thuds with his elbow against the right window. While he not so silently mutters a few curses, he buckles his seat belt again and looks up to unlock the lock. Ethan, who has somehow managed to stay in the same position, sends him a ‘I have zero pity on you, will you please hurry up’-look.

“Yes, yes!” Benji mutters as he finally unlocks the lock and slides the sunroof open.
The heavy bag Ethan had been carrying over his shoulder falls in immediately. It lands on Benji’s lap and he huffs out a pained breath. Ethan isn’t quite so lucky, because just as he tucks his legs in to bring them down through the sunroof, the car suddenly brakes and drifts to the right into a small alleyway. Ethan flies forward and to the left, but the strap of the bag closes around his torso and therefore he doesn’t land in front of the car, but on top of the front window.
For a brief moment, Benji and Ethan lock eyes and stare at each other, but then Benji quickly starts pulling on the strap of the bag to ‘reel’ Ethan into the car. While Ethan clambers inside, Benji checks the mirror and visibly deflates. After a few seconds of clumsy fiddling, Ethan manages to get in the driver’s seat. He shakes his head once and then disables the autopilot. After that, he sends his signature flashy smile to Benji, whose head is still reeling.
“See? Mission accomplished just fine,” he says and Benji allows himself to roll his eyes once before he diverts his eyes and stares out the window.

“That sentence was not grammatically correct at all,” he grumbles as he rubs his eyes. Ethan chuckles softly but stays quiet after that. They settle into a comfortable silence as the car slowly starts to eat away the miles between her and the destination.

Chapter Text

Ethan parks the car at a small parking area in the middle of a forest. Benji startles awake and rubs his eyes.

“We there yet?” he asks groggily. Ethan smiles at him, but his eyes don’t sparkle like they usually do.

“We have to walk a bit first.”

“Sure, I can do that,” Benji says as he grabs the bag and slams the car door shut. Together they wander off into the forest.

--..

“I thought you said we had to walk a bit. In what world is two hours a bit, Ethan?” Benji huffs as he struggles through the snow. Ethan doesn’t say anything as he trudges through the forest. His head is hanging a bit, but his steps are determined.

--..

Exhaustion seems to finally arrive in Ethan as the man stumbles towards one of the sturdy wooden chairs of the safehouse Benji and him have just entered. Ethan slumps in the chair but keeps quiet. Benji lets the silence thicken for a minute while he hauls the heavy duffel bag over the threshold and dumps it at Ethan’s chair, before walking to the sink and splashing some water into his face.

“Wait, what are you doing?” he asks when Ethan slowly bends down to open the bag and drags a thick folder out of it. He thuds the folder on the table and drags his eyes up to Benji.

“Wha-do you mean?” Ethan slurs while he grabs the cover of the folder. Benji sighs and quickly steps to the table.

“Do you seriously think you can find the coordinates where the Liberty 8 found those dead Russian crewman in the state you are in right now?” Ethan blinks a few times and shakes his head.

“I’m fine, Benji,” he says and although his eyes stand marginally more clear, Benji still sends him a skeptical glance.

“No you’re not,” he says matter-of-factly. Ethan ignores him and stubbornly opens the folder. Benji sighs and takes a seat next to Ethan. He grabs Ethan’s hands and puts them on the table, away from the book. The fact that super-spy Ethan Hunt doesn’t resist but just sends him a mildly thunderous glare just goes to show how tired he really is.

“Ethan, you need to sleep.”

“I need to find the Liberty 8 before anyone else does,” Ethan throws back.

“Even so, do you really think you can distinguish a zero from an eight right now? Or even read at all?” Benji scoffs and Ethan shakes his hands free and puts them in his lap, but he doesn’t try to open the folder again. For a few moments the two sit there until Ethan takes a deep breath. He steers his eyes away from the folder to Benji, his head lolling a bit backwards before he jerks it upright again.

“Benji, thank you for trying to look out for me, but I’ll be fine. You should have left me already,” he says, his voice gaining a little bit of strength again.

“What? No I should not!” Benji shrieks a little too loudly.

“The Entity will use you to get to me. It’s too dangerous.” Benji frowns and purses his lips.

“Our job is dangerous. I’ve known that from the moment I stepped onto the field, Ethan. And I have accepted that from the moment I choose to stay with you in Vienna!”

“This is different from Vienna.” Ethan scoffs.

“How exactly is this different, Ethan?”

“In Vienna I still thought I could protect you all, I thought I could protect you” Ethan states and his flustered face falls as he slumps on the chair, nearly toppling off it. Benji steadies him with a hand on his shoulder and smiles softly.

“Ilsa wasn’t your fault, Ethan,” Benji says as he squeezes Ethan’s shoulder.

“But she is dead,” Ethan spits out with a voice that is teetering on the edge of breaking.

“She is, but that doesn’t mean you should follow her.”
“Exactly.” Ethan says, perking up a bit. It’s a very long second later when a tiny frown appears between his eyes.

“Wait, that I should follow her? I don’t want you to follow her,” he says as he waves at Benji with one of his hands.

“How does ‘abandoning the plan so you can run back into CIA headquarters followed by at least a hundred government agents’ fit into ‘not dying’ exactly?” Benji fires and Ethan opens his mouth to toss something back, but he closes it directly after. Benji raises his eyebrows at Ethan’s blank face as if to say ‘see, you’re not making any sense’ and Ethan scoffs.

“Because I ran back into the building, at least a hundred government agents didn’t follow you,” he says as if he’s making a point. Benji groans.

“Ethan, that was why I was in a car in the first place, to get away from the people that were coming after us!” Ethan blinks rapidly as the information sinks in.

“Oh,” he just says.

“You can be so aggressively stupid sometimes, did you know that?” Benji sighs, but Ethan keeps quiet.

“I’m sorry Benji, I should have trusted you this morning,” he murmurs and Benji sends him a soft look.

“I understand your reasoning, but I can really hold my own out there without you running in front of bullets for me.”

“I didn’t do that?” Ethan says, but the statement quickly turns into a question and Benji rolls his eyes affectionately.

“You need me Ethan, so I’m staying,” he says and Ethan relaxes minutely. The corners of his mouth perk up a bit as a faint sparkle enters his eyes.

“I have been doing fine on my other solo missions so for what do I need you, Benji?” he says. Benji grins a little bit too broadly at that and stands up.

“Well, for starters, to drag you to bed and make sure you sleep at least a few hours,” he says as he wraps his arms around Ethan’s chest and hoists him up. Ethan rolls with his eyes, but allows for Benji to pull him upright. His eyes flutter close as he sags a bit in Benji’s arms.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep right now, Ethan. You are way too heavy for me. Besides, you’re disgusting right now, when was the last time you changed clothes? Freshen yourselves up for a bit while I grab some clothes and a towel for you, will you?” Benji says as he all but shoves Ethan into the little bathroom of the cabin.

“You’re stronger than you think Benj, I think you’d carry me just fine,” Ethan mumbles as Benji shuts the door of the bathroom. Benji giggles breathlessly at that and he shakes his head slowly, blinking rapidly as a faint blush travels over his cheeks.

He waits until he hears water splashing around before quickly grabbing Ethan’s bag to gather a shirt, briefs, Ethan’s toiletries and a towel. He drops it off into the bathroom and steps back into the main area of the small safe house, where the folder lies innocently on the table. Benji drags the other folders out of the bag and dumps them in two even stacks on the table, but then he hesitates. He glances back to the door of the bedroom and sighs.

When the muffled movement and the splashing of the water from within the bathroom stops and the sudden silence fills the room, Benji stands up again and puts one of the folders under his arm. He then grabs his gun from the counter and trudges to the small bedroom with a chair awkwardly pulled behind him. Just as he passes the door of the bathroom, it opens and Ethan steps out, some water still glistening on his skin. A frown appears on his face.

“What are you doing?” he says as Benji slowly makes his way to the bedroom, just about preventing himself from stumbling over the threshold and dropping the myriad of things he’s holding.

“Making sure you’ll actually sleep,” Benji says without looking up. Only when he finally manages to successfully put the chair next to the bed does he divert his attention back to Ethan, who is standing a bit sheepishly at the end of the lonely king sized bed in the room.

“Come on, what are you waiting for?” Benji asks while he makes himself semi-comfortable in the chair and lays his gun on his lap and the folder on the nightstand.
Ethan glances to Benji, to the gun, to the window and finally to the bed. He slumps a bit and begrudgingly climbs under the covers. As soon as he is lying down, his body relaxes and his eyes fall shut immediately.

“I’ll wake you in a few hours,” Benji says and Ethan hums.

“Thank you, Benj,” he murmurs and Benji smiles softly.

“Anytime, Ethan,” he says, but Ethan doesn’t hear it. The sweet tendrils of some well-deserved rest has pulled the older man away from the waking world already.

--..

“Please make sure you don’t harm her, Degas. Kittridge would kill me,” Briggs says harshly as he blows into his cup of coffee, the warmth of the cup slowly seeping into his gloved hands, making his thunderous facial expressions slightly less deadly. His commentary makes Degas look up and divert his attention from the woman in front of him, which gives Grace the chance to sweep the feet from under the taller agent and pin him down on the ground.

“I think you should be asking her that, Briggs,” Degas huffs, but Briggs merely rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his coffee. Grace grins proudly at the man underneath her, but that grin gets quickly wiped away when Degas twists his hips and inverts their positions smoothly.

“Make sure to pin a person down at their hips so they can’t do that,” Degas smiles and while Grace pouts at first, her face evens out quickly again.

“I got it, thanks,” she says. Degas stands up and offers a hand to Grace, who takes it eagerly.

“Again,” she says and she takes a fighting stance, glancing quickly at her feet and changing their position minutely. Degas smiles instead and shakes his head.

“No thanks, maybe later, but I was actually planning on starting that book I bought just before we got here,” he says and after a brief, but slightly hesitant nod to Briggs, he walks away to the tent he has been assigned to. Grace sends her hands to the sky as she groans loudly.

"How does he do that?” she asks aggressively to Briggs, who has just taken another sip of his coffee and therefore isn’t able to answer.

“How does anybody here do this?” Grace instead just asks while she gestures to the dozen or so people around them. Some were sparring like Grace and Degas had just done, but most of them were either huddled around a small fire or entertaining themselves quietly with a book or by cleaning their guns. Briggs looks around and huffs.

“Our job consists mostly of waiting, Grace, so why not relax a bit while doing so?” he says and after clasping her shoulder and giving her some sort of attempt of a smile, he walks away muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “as if I wanted to be here either,”.

Grace sighs and stomps towards the little fire, where Degas has placed himself on a camping chair. She looks around for a chair but when she doesn’t find any, she just hauls a log from a few feet away, wipes the snow of it and takes a seat. She rests her head on her hands and huffs.

“Relax, Grace. We are not expecting Hunt to leave the safe house for at least a day or more,” Degas chuckles while flipping a page of his book.

“Why don’t we just barge in and get the key?” Degas doesn’t close his book, but he does look up to Grace with an exasperated expression.

“And you think that will work? Hunt managed to escape the CIA headquarters with more than a hundred men on his tail and you think attacking him on his own ground, in a safe house, that’s been designed to be either easily defendable or quickly escapable, will be a good idea?”

“No, off course not,” Grace relents.

“Our best chance is to wait until he leaves the house and intercept him on his way to wherever,” Degas says and he flips his gaze back to the book.

“Them,” Grace corrects him and Degas hums briefly in confusion, before sighing, sending his eyes to the sky and then closing his book to give all his attention to Grace.

“Them, Ethan and Benji,” she clarifies slowly.

“Do you think they will go together?” Degas asks curiously.

“Do you think they won’t?”

“Hunt only cares about the mission.” Degas says and Grace laughs.

“Who says that?” she says while still softly chuckling.

“How does he remain professional if he does care about the people he is putting in danger any time he puts foot into their lives? That’s simply impossible, ” Degas says with a grim look on his face. Grace stops laughing and looks at him with wide eyes.

“Oh boy, you have no idea, do you? Who you are fighting with?” she asks and Degas wriggles a bit in his chair.

“I know the key he has is of vital importance so that’s enough for me,” Degas says, avoiding Grace’s gaze and Grace just shakes her head.

“If you say so,” she huffs but Degas ignores her and opens his book again.

“But twenty bucks on Ethan and Benji leaving together,” she adds with a grin and Degas does roll his eyes, but he also shakes her outstretched hand.

“Consider that a bet.”

Chapter Text

When Ethan opens his eyes, he notices two things. One: he feels completely rested but also so incredibly comfortable that he doesn’t want to wake up yet, his eyes falling closed again immediately, and two: Benji is still in a chair beside him. Ethan turns his head and locks eyes with Benji’s tired ones.

“Hi,” Benji says and Ethan smiles, before a frown enters his face.

“That was way more than a few hours,” he asks, but the question mark is nowhere to be heard, so Benji just nods.

“You needed it,” he says, right as a yawn escapes his mouth.

“You sure seem to be needing it now,” Ethan chuckles as he shifts to lay on his side.

“I looked into the pantry and there are some crackers and jam for you to eat, so please do that,” Benji says instead of answering that statement as he lays the book he was reading (not the folder; a book on the Bering sea if Ethan has read the cover correctly) on the nightstand.

“Sure, Benji,” Ethan says but he doesn’t get ready to get out of bed. Instead, he just snuggles a bit deeper into the covers. Benji sighs tiredly.

“I checked one of the folders for reports about the liberty 8’s whereabouts, but haven’t found anything yet. You can resume the search at the bookmark I put there,” he says as he stands up and pats the folder on the nightstand. He pauses and sends a tired glare at Ethan for him to move, but Ethan just grins innocently back at the Brit. Benji sighs loudly and slumps.

“Scoot over, will ya?” he asks as he grabs the side of the cover and pulls it away from Ethan. Ethan looks like he considers fighting Benji for the covers like the literal child he can sometimes be, but he chooses to take his loss quite quickly as he throws the sheets away and shuffles out of bed. He stretches on the side of the bed for a minute while he hears that Benji is making himself comfortable. Just as Ethan is going to stand up, Benji’s voice pierces through the silence.

“Don’t you dare leave while I’m sleeping, Ethan Hunt. If you want to leave me behind on this mission, at least have the courage to do so while I can look you in the eyes.” Benji’s voice is soft, but there is a subtle growl in it that makes Ethan swallow.

“Sleep well Benji,” he just says and he leaves the bedroom as Benji slowly succumbs to the same sleep he had pushed Ethan towards the evening before.

--..

Somewhere in the world, in an establishment significantly more luxurious than the one Ethan and Benji are staying in, Gabriel is sitting on a sofa. A piece of classical music is playing and he is humming along to it, his eyes closed and his features relaxed. Suddenly the music stops and he frowns.

“Hello, Gabriel,” A deep, feminine voice says and the frown disappears.

“Hello,” Gabriel says with a genuine smile.

“Are you ready for the next step?” the Entity says and Gabriel opens his eyes.

The tv in the room has jumped on and is portraying the blue show of lights of the Entity.

“I had been wondering when it was time for Hunt to die, so consider me ready indeed,” he says with a small but malicious smile.

“Hunt is of a later concern, you’re mission is her,” the Entity says, and a picture of a woman appears on the tv.

“Grace?” Gabriel asks, confused.

“Listen.”

--..

Ethan finishes his set of pushups and jumps up eagerly. He sends a long look outside, but sighs and turns away from the window. He walks back into the bedroom and quietly makes his way around the bed. He swiftly grabs the folder but then pauses, looking at Benji, the door and then the chair. Benji shifts a bit in his sleep and Ethan holds his breath, but Benji just sighs and cuddles a bit deeper into the covers. Ethan walks around the bed again but pauses again at the threshold of the room. He looks at the living room and at Benji and a conflicted frown appears on his face.

--..

“I understand,” Gabriel says as he carefully puts the gun like mechanism away.

“But I gather that you would want to know why I won’t sent anyone after Hunt just yet?” the Entity asks.

“I do,” Gabriel answers with a hungry voice.

Ethan Hunt and Benji Dunn are looking for me in the files they stole from the CIA. As soon as they find me, Ethan will leave Benji. Ethan will go to me in the Sevastopol and even though Ethan doesn’t want him to, Benji will follow. What I’ve learned about humans since my so-called ‘birth’ is that you require two things: safety and affection. In most of your lives, these two can co-exist. With Ethan Hunt, they can’t. Benji Dunn is his friend, the one he feels affection for,

Ethan is sitting on the bed with the folder laying open in his lap. Every so often, he looks over to a sleeping Benji at his side and his face relaxes minutely, crowfeet appearing around his eyes.

but by keeping him close,

Ethan and Benji enjoy a cup of tea on the tiny sofa, both having a folder on their lap but with their eyes focused on each other as they chat about nothing. Benji waves excitedly with his hands as he explains a story to Ethan, who is smiling softly over the rim of his mug.

he risks Dunn’s safety.

Benji startles upright in the bed, his chest heaving. It is snowing heavily outside so the room is only dimly lit, but Ethan’s hands find his friend’s shoulders anyway and he pulls the shaking Brit into a sideways embrace. While Benji slowly relaxes against Ethan’s chest, Ethan closes his eyes, a pained expression on his face.

Dunn cares about Ethan. After all, his friends are the who are what he cares most about.

Ethan is doing his routine exercises on the floor of the living room as Benji is reading the files. Even though Benji rolls his eyes every time Ethan tries to distract him, he can’t hide the grin that appears on his face or the way his eyes start to twinkle affectionately.

Together they are stronger than apart

Benji excitedly points at a page in the folder that has been opened on the kitchen table, but after Ethan takes a look at it and shakes his head, the excitement falls from the younger man’s face. Ethan says something to Benji and points at the page. Benji looks again before nodding thoughtfully and shrugging sadly. Ethan claps him on the shoulder and returns his focus to his own folder.

and together they have a chance to destroy me, but if you leave them alone for the time being, they will inevitably destroy that only chance to win. When they find the coordinates of the Sevastopol,

Ethan is sitting on a chair at the kitchen table while Benji is rummaging in the cupboards. Suddenly, Ethan’s spine straightens and he leans closer to the folder.
After triple checking, his face lights up. He looks up, but when his gaze lands on Benji,

Hunt will leave Dunn

Ethan’s face falls. He closes his eyes and grabs something from his pockets, but then he shakes his head resolutely. He walks slowly to Benji, who is still turned with his back to Ethan and is now rummaging with the stove.

and by doing so, he will be digging his own grave and all of humanity’s with it.

“Benji,” Ethan says, but his voice sounds like its stuck in his throat.

“Hmm, what’s the matter?” Benji asks as he puts a pan on the stove.

“Benji,” Ethan says, this time softer. He grabs Benji by his hips and slowly turns him around.

“You ok, Ethan?” Benji tries to laugh, but the look on Ethan’s face makes him swallow and causes a slight blush to appear on his bearded cheeks. Ethan swallows too and slowly cups Benji’s neck with one hand. His eyes flit from Benji’s eyes to his lips and back and Benji can’t help but wet those lips nervously with his tongue. Ethan closes his eyes as he leans closer, but he quickly opens them again.

“I-“ he stutters and his eyes become wet. Ethan lets go of Benji’s neck and glides his hand down to the small of Benji’s back. He locks eyes with the Brit again, which elicits a small smile from Benji. Ethan takes a deep breath and for a few seconds it remains silent.

“I’m sorry, Benji,” he whispers as a loud and crackling electrical noise breaks the silence and Benji slumps down, his body shaking and twitching erratically.

“I’m sorry.”

--..

“How exactly are you going to pay me that twenty, Grace?” Degas asks. His voice is sugar sweet, but the wide grin his face is sporting betrays how much of an evil menace he really is.

“Shut up, you haven’t even won yet, all we know is that Ethan burnt some book in front of the cottage, he hasn’t left yet,” Grace grumbles as she turns the page of the book she is reading.

“Do I detect some saltiness from our little ray of sunshine?” Degas taunts. Grace just rolls her eyes and kicks her feet up onto the bed in a faint attempt to scare off Degas with her disinterest. It doesn’t work, not even a bit, as Degas just makes himself a little bit more comfortable on the bed at the other side of the tent and opens his book.

The silence thickens for a few seconds as Grace tries to read until she gives up and throws the book to her side. She sighs loudly and wriggles a bit on the bed, which makes the old springs creak and scream. At that, Degas lifts his gaze from his book to the woman.

“What?” he asks, not friendly, but also not outright unkind.

“Why couldn’t I go with the others now that Ethan finally seems to be ready to leave that hut that you call a fortress?” she complains.

“Listen, Grace, it’s not that we think you can’t handle it.” Grace perks up a bit at that, which Degas ignores as he resumes.

“It’s just that Kittridge has ordered us to not lose you,” Degas says and he puts extra emphasize on the ‘lose’, which makes Grace roll her eyes.

“And the snowy mountains are an excellent place to ‘get lost’,” Grace mocks while putting up air quotes around the last part.

“Because out here the five star hotels are readily available. In fact, you can find one around every other tree!” Grace finishes her scoff and Degas chuckles.

“I just follow orders,” he says, but it is with a smile. They remain silent for a while longer until Degas puts his book away and stands up. Grace raises her eyebrows at him.

“Bored of me already?” she asks, but Degas shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about that ever happening, it’s just nature calling,” he explains as he walks to the entrance. Just as he is about to step outside, he stops and turns around.

“Can I trust you to not run away to one of those grand hotels?” he asks seriously. Grace just puts up her thumb as she leans back against the canvas and closes her eyes. She keeps her eyes closed as she hums softly to herself, tapping on her knees with her fingers. That is why she doesn’t hear the front flap opening, or the soft footsteps walking towards her. It’s only when a hand clamps over her mouth that she opens her eyes, but by then it’s already too late to scream.

Chapter Text

Benji groans as he opens his eyes. As the events of the previous however-long-it-was filter through the layers of haze that still cling to his head, he hurriedly shoots upright. The connection between his brain and his limbs is however not yet online so he only manages to tumble inelegantly off the little beat up couch on the beat up floor. He hits the floor with a string of muttering curses and for a second lays still, before he pushes himself with trembling arms somewhat upright.

“Ethan?” he yells, just loud enough to be heard in the one other room of the small cottage, but too soft to penetrate the thick wooden walls. He listens for a beat and frowns at the strange sound, in which he doesn’t recognize his voice at all, but when no answer comes, he shakes his head and sighs.

“I should have stopped him, should have known. Off course I’m not enough, not enough for fucking Ethan Hunt!” he mutters, growing more agitated by the second.

He shifts a bit until he’s leaning with his back against the couch and brings his hands to his head to rub his eyes. When he starts rubbing however, he frowns and a soft ‘huh?’ escapes his lips. Gears click in his foggy head, only slowing grasping each other’s hands until suddenly the light goes on.

Benji hurries upright, using the couch for support, and stumbles through the living room, grasping a chair and the table to not meet the floor again. He lurches into the bathroom and can only just catch himself on the sink. He drags his still trembling legs under his torso and looks up into the mirror.

He looks up into a disheveled face with pillow marks on one side, a slightly bigger nose then average, shortish and painted brown hair and eyes a beautiful mixture of blue and brown. He looks up into Ethan’s face. The face grins back at Benji as he smiles and starts to frown as Benji does.

“Oh you bastard,” he curses. He stumbles (albeit more elegantly than before) back to the living room and sits down on a chair. The thick folders are still there, neatly stacked in two uneven towers on the corner of the table.

“What did he think, that I would play for bait, lure them away and get killed in the process? Yeah, let Benji suffer, he is worth nothing anyway,” Benji says as he grabs one of the folders, the one with the crumpled receipt/their bookmark in it, and cringes a bit when his words return to his ears in Ethan’s voice.

“Not a chance, mister Hunt, not this time.” he says resolutely as he opens up the book on the page of the bookmark. He bends over the pages and squints his eyes to read the tiny lettering. A soft but triumphantly ‘aha’ fills the room. Benji quickly gathers a pen and paper from one of the kitchen drawers and scribbles down something. He raises the little piece of paper in the air and smiles.

“You may have a head start of,” Benji quickly glances outside through the windows.

“At least a few hours, but I’ll see you soon Ethan, I’ll see you at,” Benji glances down towards the paper.

“Exactly 57.7 °31’ 00.8 N. 176.0° 13’ 12.6 W.” Benji grins towards the window and then hurries up to throw his meager belongings in his bag. Just before he puts his hands on the knob to open the door, he stops, puts down his bag and hurries back to the folder. He violently rips the page out of the folder and tears it to pieces, before throwing the scraps in the toilet and flushing. Only then does he carefully open the door and plans to step outside, leaving the worn down cottage empty once again.

Well, not entirely empty, since when Benji had ripped the page out of the folder, a slit of paper had fallen off of it, the little drop of old glue not being able to hold its meager weight to the paper it had been sticking to. The scrap had swirled through the air, tumbling and flipping, until it had landed softly under the table on the floor, unheard and unnoticed by Benji.

Under the table there now rests a neatly cut out rectangle of paper, which reads: Liberty 8, 7th of May.

--..

It seems like the treeline is empty, but when someone has particularly keen eyes, more and more hidden men (and women) can be spotted, their dark clothing mixing with the shadows of the trees, but their silhouettes just not fluid enough to be anything other than men. The group is hidden all around the little cottage, which is covered in a thick layer of snow, but the place right in front of the door is reserved for Briggs, who is laying behind a small bump on the ground, an automatic rifle in front of him. His fingers twitch randomly as he curls them around the weapon, but the rest of him stays still. Small snowflakes swirl around them in their dance towards the earth, but all their eyes are trained on the little fortress just ahead of them. The distance between Briggs’ position and the door of the cottage is around fifteen feet, but there are still a few sporadic trees in front of him, the cottage taking just enough space form the forest for itself and the little shed behind it.

When the doorhandle gets pushed down everyone seems to sit up a little brighter and tension fills the air like a snake uncurling before an attack. The door creeps open and a man steps out of the cottage, scanning the area quickly, frowning a bit when spotting the charred grass in front of the cottage. Briggs takes a breath to shout something but before he can push it out again brown eyes lock into his own and the man spins around and disappears immediately back into the cabin, the door slamming shut behind him. Briggs sighs softly but still yells:

“Hunt, Dunn! You are surrounded, get out of the cottage, hands in the air!” While he does so he signals something to the people around him and jumps upright, hurriedly grabbing his rifle as he does so.

“Hunt!” he tries again, but just as he starts to shout the other name, a loud revving rips through the morning air, breaking the silence painfully. Briggs lifts his rifle, his finger on the trigger, but he is too late to aim towards the yellow snow mobile that bursts out of the shed, speeding away through the trees. He and a few of his fellow agents fire a few times, but the bullets get lost in tree trunks or fly way over the head of Ethan Hunt, who, huddled over the scooter, quickly disappears through the trees. Briggs swings his rifle over his shoulder and points to three people.

“You, you and you, stay here and to smoke out Dunn, the rest, come with me!” The group splits and heads towards their motorcycles. Briggs arrives first and swings easily in the saddle, before quickly revving up the engine and speeding away, slaloming through the trees, following the faint yellow of the snow mobile a dozen feet in front of him.

Chapter Text

Benji speeds through the trees, his breath up in his throat and his heart racing like hell. Sometimes he takes a little bit of the gas, preferring to slide a bit forwards instead, but when he hears the rumbling sound of bikes approaching he revs up the engine again, his eyes widening from undisguised fear.

“Why did I wanted to be a field agent again?” he squeaks after he only narrowly avoids a big tree. His mirror does not avoid the trunk however, and it breaks off with a loud snap.

“Hunt!” he hears from behind him, but he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t stop. He has to go. Go further, go to the road he sees at the end of the slight slope he’s racing downwards on. Sometimes he sees a glimpse of the asphalt road as the trees clear, but that is only for a split second. That split second is enough to give him the courage to speed on, but only just so.

“Is it because you like the thrill, Benji?” he puffs as he steers the snow mobile between two trees which were standing just far enough apart for him to make it through.

“Not on speeding vehicles, I don’t.” he mutters as the trees slowly start to lessen and the sky penetrates the canopy above them more and more.

“That is Ethan’s ar-“ he says, but his breath catches as he spots a huge crack in the earth, a canyon, a feet or six wide, edges covered in snow but still deep, coming up ahead him. Benji looks quickly to the left and right of the canyon, but the crevice is several dozen feet long, so going around is not an option. One of the few trees near the canyon, however, had given up the fight against gravity a few years ago. Layers and layers of snow has assembled on top of the trunk, forming a neat hill of thick snow, almost like a ramp.

“Oh, no, no, no, not a chance,” Benji says and he slows down. He can only take one deep breath however, before he hears a bike coming closer and closer. Benji dares to look back and sees that only Briggs has been able to keep up with him, now twentyish feet away, coming closer by the second. Benji locks eyes with the man and Briggs smiles crazily.

“Hands up in the air!” Briggs yells as he too lessons speed. Benji looks at Briggs, looks back to the ‘ramp’ of snow, whirls back at Briggs and sighs. He then revs up the engine, shifts in his seat, takes a deep breath and speeds away, right towards the canyon.

Briggs starts as he sees Benji speeding away. He shouts something to stop the agent, but his plea gets lost in the overwhelming noise of a fully opened engine. Benji speeds towards the little hill, glancing from the snow to the crevasse and back.

Closer and closer he gets, the ‘ramp’ only five feet away, four feet, three, two-

At the last moment, Benji’s breath catches in his throat and he haphazardly throws the steering wheel to the side. His momentum slings him off the snow mobile and he lands roughly on the sloping hill of snow, rolling a few feet further until gravity gets hold of him and he tips, almost comically slowly, over the edge, disappearing from Briggs view.

For a small second, everything keeps quiet, Briggs is stunned in place, unable to do anything but blink. But then he jumps of his bike, swings his rifle from his back and carefully steps towards the little hill. He passes the tipped over snow mobile, which is still purring softly and cautiously sneaks towards the edge. As he bows a little over the edge, his shoulders relax minutely. He looks right into the wide open eyes of Ethan Hunt, who is holding desperately unto the branches of the fallen tree, his feet dangling helplessly under him.

He is staring up at Briggs with widened eyes and for a moment it remains still, hunter and prey frozen in the moment, locking eyes, waiting for one of them to do something to break the impasse. It is Briggs who does that eventually, raising his rifle and flexing his fingers around the trigger.

“Guess it is you who needs help now, hmm, Hunt?” he grins at the dangling figure.

“And this time it is actually necessary for someone to save the day, huh, not unlike last time,” he resumes. Benji frowns quizzically at the man above him, whose grin slowly fades away, getting replaced by an angry frown.

“You don’t even remember?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, help me up and we’ll talk about it,” Benji answers, but Briggs scowl only darkens.

“So you can run away again without acknowledging all the hard work I did before you, the ‘amazing’, agent Hunt, swept in to ‘so-called’ save the day, leaving me with no credits and annoying assignments? Not this time, Hunt, not this time,”

“What are you talking about? Just give me a hand and stop waving that gun in my face, will you?” Benji tries to lighten the situation, but his voice is too high up his throat for that to work and Briggs only chuckles.

“No, what we are going to do is that you give me the key and only then will I haul you up!” Briggs states right when one of the branches Benji is holding on to snaps. The dry wood plunges into the depths of the earth and the shock of it makes one hand of Benji slip, leaving him dangling from one hand, his other trying to grab something else, but only finding icy slopes of the mountain.

“Give me the key!” Briggs shouts as he drops on his knees. He doesn’t lower his gun, however, and Benji stares right into the barrel of it, his chest heaving and his feet kicking the cold air. Benji looks into Briggs eyes, glances down towards the deep chasm beneath him and glances back, determination filling his eyes.

Briggs sees it too, but it’s too late as Benji has already pushed himself off the wall of the gorge with his feet and before he lets go, plummeting into the wide open mouth of the mountain below.

--..

Benji falls and falls, the wind rushing in his ears and the white blinding him. He hits the side of the gorge as it narrows and snow rains over him, crashing with him while he slides and rolls and tumbles down. His torso slams unto a protruding ledge and the breath he had been holding escapes him in a painful grunt, before gravity takes hold on him again and he slips the last few feet to the blanket of snow on the bottom of the gorge, in which he lands with a dull thud.

He lays there for a moment, groaning softly. A steady pour of snowflakes slides unto his face and makes his nose sniffle. Briggs’ voice echoes down on him, but the words are lost in the mountain stone and merely a hollow sound remains, a faint reminder for Benji that he should really get up now. He does so, groaning and clasping his ribs, clambering upright, a hand on the wall for support. His pained breaths paint small clouds in front of his face, but he doesn’t look at them. He steels his eyes and stumbles forwards, further into the gorge that twists and turns but doesn’t seem to end soon.

His the snow reaches right up to his knees as he struggles forwards. One time he even sinks in until his hips and has to clamber out of it with help of a crack in the wall besides him. Some of the rays of the sun above him manage to get all the way down, but most of the lighting originates from the snow that reflects the meagre light until the bottom of the canyon is illuminated in an eery, bright white that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Soon, however, he sees a fresh light peeking in front of him, a bright light, a yellow light, sometimes visible, sometimes hidden behind the twists and turns of the mountains next to him.

As the light gets closer the canyon narrows and at the last couple of feet Benji has to walk sideways, holding his breath as he squeezes through, feet by slow feet until he pops out of the grove, into the bright sunlight. He blinks furiously and looks around him sheepishly. His unfortunate fumble had brought him several feet down the mountain and here the snow is already beginning to make its retreat, green flashes of grass peeking out here and there where the sun doesn’t get blocked by the canopy and can hit the ground below the coniferous trees.

He glances up the mountain, but he sees no sign of his pursuers, the environment deceptively peaceful. As he turns to the bottom of the mountain, a soft rumble drifts to Benji and he starts. He glances back up the mountain, but the sound comes from his left, not his right. On his left he can just about see the road from before winding further down the mountain through all of the trees. On the road an inconspicuous black four by four tuffs towards him and Benji immediately starts running.

Wheezing and gasping he makes a run through the trees, slipping and sliding on the wet grass. Two times he almost falls to the ground and the third time he actually does lose his balance so badly that he tumbles over, rolls a few feet further and comes to a close against a tree stump. The engine of the car sounds louder and louder as it gets closer so Benji hauls himself up again and takes a few harsh breaths.

“Okay Benji, you can do this. Head up, chest forwards, hands along your side and run,” Benji grunts as he does as he says and runs down the hill to the road, not as fast as Ethan would have done, but decidedly more in control than before his tumble.
He storms out of the bushes unto the road and can only barely jump out of the way as the car swerves and brakes loudly. The door of the passenger’s side gets thrown open by a large figure, who is beckoning Benji to jump in. Benji obeys gratefully , throws himself into the vehicle and pulls the door closed.

“Ethan, where’s Benji?” Luther says as he looks at Benji, seemingly without a care in the world. He leans forwards to look behind Benji through the side window of the car but Benji gestures to the road instead.

“Ethan, already gone, earlier,” Benji manages to get out as he desperately tries to calm his frantic breaths. Luther frowns and hesitates, glancing to the road, to Benji, through the side window and back to the road again. Benji doesn’t look back, his whole focus trained on calming down his heart. Suddenly another rumbling adds to the soft purr of the engine of their car and a quick glance in the side mirror reveals a black car speeding towards them.

“Drive, Luther, drive!” Benji yells and after a split second Luther trains his eyes off Benji, shifts the gears and slams his feet on the gas, leaving Benji scrambling to put on his seatbelts while the car speeds away.

The four by four takes off at some speed, but while she is great off the road, she needs a bit of time to really release all her power on it. Benji checks the mirror frantically for the black car behind them. It gets closer by the second and while Luther softly preys to their car to go faster, Benji curses.

“We’re not gonna make it, Luther!” Benji squeals as the black car creeps towards them before getting alongside their rear wheels. Suddenly an opening in the forest appears on their left and Luther slams on the brakes and steers to the left, causing the black car to shoot past them before it inevitably brakes too. For one brief moment Benji locks eyes with the passenger of the black car as it turns around (with quite some finesse actually). His eyes widen as he sees long brown hair and wide, reddened eyes, but he has no time to react, because the car dives into the opening in the forest and, slipping and sliding, finally gets a lead on their persecutors.

“See Brandt, that’s why we get a four-by-four,” Luther says and Benji starts giggling. His injured rib protests, however, and the giggles turn into groans and short breaths. Benji shrinks a bit into himself and squeezes his eyes shut while trying to slow his breathing. Luther sends him a worried glance.

“You ok?” he asks and Benji opens his eyes to send him an irritated glare.

“No, off course I’m not okay, do you think I wince for fun?” he says with a snide.
Luther gestures an apology but a small grin forms on his face regardless. The atmosphere calms down a bit as the car slowly winds through the woods, the trees and mud beneath the wheels their only companion. When Luther deems Benji to be relaxed enough, he gives him a long sideway glance and pulls up his eyebrow.

“Care to explain why you are wearing an Ethan-mask, Benji?”

Chapter Text

Benji’s mouth falls open inelegantly and a small blush appears on his/Ethan’s face.

“I am not, why would you-“ he stammers while he sits upright again, the humiliation providing a distraction from the pain. He stutters further, pleading with his eyes for Luther to relieve him from his ramble, but Luther just pulls up his eyebrows and gives him a pointed look.

“Okay, fine, it is me. Am I really that bad?” he groans as he rests his head against the seat and closes his eyes in defeat.

“Benji, would Ethan have acknowledged he was hurt in any other case than when he is actively dying?” Luther mocks and Benji groans again.

“That bastard wouldn’t even say something if he wás actively dying,” he says with a bitter tone in his voice. Luther frowns subtly, but he wills his face back into a positive demeanour and trains his eyes back on the semi road they are driving on.

“Besides,” Luther begins, his voice coloured with glee.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Ethan run that sloppily,” he finishes and Benji can’t help himself but open his eyes in mock outrage.

“My running style has been accurate enough, thank you very much,” he states.

“But, how did that happen?” Luther asks while he gestures to Benji’s ribs. Benji groans and hides his face in his hands. Then he reluctantly explains what happened on the mountain and at the crevasse.

“I mean, I don’t know what that guy has against Ethan, but he was not as helpful as Ethan said he was on the train.” Benji finishes and immediately gets a file thrown into his lap. Benji removes his hands from his head and looks at Luther quizzically

“I spend a lot of time waiting around so I called some old friends,” Luther says as an explanation. Benji opens the file and gets immediately jumpscared by a blown out photo of Jasper Briggs. The next pages are filled with a partially filled in file about the man. Benji ruffles through it.

“Has served under a few different organisations, CIA, FBI, some vague ones, has a few remarks on impulsive or aggressive behaviour, well that sounds familiar, hmm,”

“Check for Australia or Sydney, around 2008, Luther says and Benji flips the page to that part of the file.

“Ah, the Chimera Case. Wasn’t that the one Ethan met Nyah? Why is that one important?”

“IMF wasn’t involved in this from the start, because it was initially CIA who were trying to get intel on Ambrose,” Luther starts.

“Ambrose was?” Benji interrupts him, as he riffles through the papers.

“Bbeg from the mission, wanted to spread a virus around the world so he could get rich on selling the antivirus. Realy weird guy, Australian,” Luther provides and Benji hums committedly.

“So you know the name of Ethan’s two month fling but not the main guy from this mission?” Luther asks coyly and Benji flusters minutely.

“Ethan talks about her sometimes,” he says, trying to sound secure.

“No he doesn’t,”

“Yes he does! Anyway, what did Briggs have to do with this?”

“Briggs was the one from the CIA assigned to get intel on Ambrose, but without Nyah, who was an ex of Ambrose, that proved to be very hard, so Ethan got put on the case. Briggs was pissed that Ethan took over his mission and that he took home all of the glory,” Luther says and Benji nods, before a frown appears on his face again.

“And Ethan did not give him a thanks? I can’t believe that, Ethan gives his thanks to the cleaning guy if he gets the opportunity,” Benji frowns.

“No I don’t think so too, I think Ethan didn’t even know he was replacing Briggs.”

“But why did Briggs help Ethan on the train but not now?” Benji asks.

“Well, he seems to have mellowed a bit since he started working alongside that other guy, Degas. Hold on tight to those files please, they are the only one I have,” Luther says as he steers the car over a few bumps until they got back on an actual road.

“They were together on the train, that could have helped,” Benji shrugs.

“Besides, you said he talked about not getting credits for saving all those people on the train and getting a new assignment. Having to wait in the snow because of and on someone he resents might have pushed him over the edge,” Luther concludes.

“Having to guard an adult woman who is also a thief must be quite annoying too,” mentions as he closes the file. Luther hums inquiringly as he bends a little over the steering wheel to check the signs next to the road.

“Didn’t you see? Grace was in that car that followed us. And now I think about it, I think the guy who was driving was Degas,” Benji explains.

“Oh? But that must mean that Briggs and Degas are under Kittridge now,” Luther murmurs. For a few seconds it stays silent in the car as they dive back into the woods (on a road this time). After a few minutes bumping over the bad road they enter a small parking area. There is only one car parked in there, a small inconspicuous grey car.

“Oh, not another four by four?” Benji jokes as they switch cars. Luther squints at him, but doesn’t dignify the remark with a reply. They sit down in the car and Benji puts his seatbelt on. He settles himself into the seat, but looks towards Luther when the other guy doesn’t start the engine.

“Where will Ethan meet us?” Luther asks as an explanation. Benji’s eyes widen a bit.

“Oh he won’t meet us, he is already long gone towards the coordinates the Liberty 8 had sailed on the seventh of May, the date it made the rather gruesome discovery of a couple dozen frozen corpses that originated from the submarine the Sevastopol, where we reckon the Entity’s source code is hidden,” he says, but Luther looks at him with a blank face.

“Benji, where is Ethan?” Luther asks dead serious. Benji squirms a bit in his seat.

“He has left the cabin a couple of hours ago, probably to go to these coordinates,” he says as he grabs the little note he wrote, out of his pocket to show Luther.

“Benji, are you sure Ethan won’t wait for us?” Luther asks while looking Benji square in the eyes. Benji shakes his head in the negative. Luther curses.

“When I traced the code I found on my hard drive back to its source, I could reassess the whole journey of the Entity from the moment it ‘escaped’ the submarine’s computer. Just after it did that, the Entity build in a security code that one has to fill in into one of the board computers before opening the chamber to the mainframe.” Luther explains as he starts the car.

“And what happens if you don’t?” Benji asks carefully.

“Then the cooling equipment surrounding the quantum computer which hosts the Entity will activate as soon as someone tries to open the case with the key,” Luther says matter of factly.

“Wait, you are saying that the Russians have built a working quantum computer?”

“A hybrid of normal hardware and quantum hardware, but that’s none of our current concern. Right now the fact is that if we don’t warn Ethan about the code, he will turn into an icicle the moment he tries to kill the Entity,” Luther continues and Benji whitens.

“Why did you not stop him, or go after him?” Luther asks with a sigh as he turns the car on the small parking lot.

“I was not really in the position to do so, mind you, that bastard tasered me,” Benji huffs and Luther’s eyes widen before his brows furrow and a puzzled expression enters his face.

“So he tasered you to get away from you, but he also gave instructions to wear his face?” he asks, but Benji shakes his head.

“No, no, I just woke up with this mask on. Hadn’t really had time to take it off really,” Benji says as he moves his hands towards his neck.

“No, you shouldn’t. Ethan must have done that for a reason,” Luther quickly says as he holds up a hand to stop Benji from proceeding.

“I know that and I know that reason: I’m live bait,” Benji says with a sour face.

“Or a distraction. Two Ethans are harder to catch than one, especially as the Entity does not know which of the two has the key,” Luther says and that brightens up Benji a little.

“So we do exactly what Ethan won’t, and meet him at the Sevastopol to warn him about the security code,” Luther says and Benji nods.

“Wait, where are we going now?” Benji asks as Luther steers them back to the main road.

“Benji, do you know how to man a submarine?”

--..

Degas huffs as he hoists the last bags in the car. The clearing around him is buzzing with the frantic energy of departure. He closes the trunk and walks around the car, tapping the window against which Grace is leaning, but she doesn’t look up, her eyes far away. Just before he can open the door to the driver’s seat, he stops because of a short ‘Degas!’. Degas turns around and lifts his eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything to Briggs swiftly walking towards him.

“Hey, are you sure you want to take her with you and not let anyone else do it?” he says softly while briefly glancing towards the sullen figure in the car behind Degas. Degas frowns, but keeps quiet again.

“I think I am entitled to the job of keeping someone from sneaking away, since the others here didn’t even notice Dunn had taken the second snowmobile until it was far too late,” he says as he leans back against the car and crosses his arms, his expression politically ambiguous. Briggs pries a bit with his foot in the snow and looks away.

“Okay I let you be, but do remember what Kittridge said,” Briggs says resolutely as he turns around and stalks away. Degas watches him for a bit, his eyes sad, but then he squares his shoulders and opens the door. As he slides into the seat he sends an encouraging smile towards Grace.

“Ready for the long flight?” he asks and Grace jumps a bit (for as far as that is possible buckled in a car seat) and turns around, her eyes refocusing on the here and now.

“Where were we going again?” she asks while she settles back into the seat and closes her eyes shut. Degas chuckles.

“You know, for a thief you have a really bad memory,” he says as he starts the engine. Grace swats him on the arm at that, a little bit of colour returning on her cheeks.

“As if you do actually listen closely to whatever Briggs says.”

“It’s my job to do that, Grace,” Degas huffs back.

“I thought your job was to babysit me?” Grace grins weakily as she opens one eye to look at him.

“That, and preventing a certain agent from attaining a key to world domination by catching said agent by following orders from a certain Briggs, hmm?”

“Okay okay, I’ll leave you be, mister Busy Man,” Grace says as she closes her eyes again and tries to relax in the seat. For a few minutes the silence is only disturbed by the soft rumble of the engine, but then Grace takes a breath and opens her mouth.

“Wait, so where was the White Widow again?”

--..

On the corner of two bland streets stands a broken down phone cell. The street light next to it is broken as well, casting the phone cell in shadows. A figure hurries towards it and steps inside, shutting the broken door behind them. Their face is hidden by the shadows as they grab the phone, throw in some cash and punch in a number. While the phone is ringing, they fumble a little beneath their chin and cough a few times.

“Hello? Who is this?” a female voice sounds tinnily from within the telephone. The figure in the phone cell puts his hand down his collar and grabs something from under his shirt. While the light of a passing car reflects on the golden surface of the cruciform key, the person takes a deep breath.

“Good to speak to you again, Alanna,” Ethan’s voice sounds which elicits a soft gasp from the other side of the line.

“Lark, I thought I’d never hear from you again, what can I do for you darling?” Alanna asks.

“Ethan, actually, Ethan Hunt. And I have a proposal for you…”

--..

A grey car parks at the side of a black pile of burned wood, stone and clumps of molten metal. Both doors open at the same time and two people step out of it, a big muscular guy and a smaller, more tawny one. The smaller one tilts his head back to look at the top of one of the walls that still somewhat stands upright.

“Do you reckon it is a coincidence that the only factory of glacial submarines which is not government funded has burned down not too long ago?” Benji asks.

“Not a chance.” Luther sighs as he leans back against the car.

“So, Amsterdam then?”

Chapter Text

The small streets are busying quickly as the people rush home. People walking in groups from narrow house to narrow house, seemingly not caring as many on scooters, and even more people on bicycles speed past them. Benji squares his shoulders as he walks through the street next to the canal, one foot on the sidewalk and one foot of it, because of all the bikes that are parked against every other house they pass. One time he even has to walk fully on the narrow street to evade a bike that is planted pontifically on the sidewalk. Benji looks at it and raises an eyebrow, before shaking his head as he sees that the key of the bike is still in its lock. He looks around every so often, glancing over his shoulder until his features relaxes and he turns back again.

“Relax, Ethan,” Luther says softly behind Benji. At first Benji doesn’t react, until his eyes brighten and he hurriedly answers.

“I am relaxed,”

“You weren’t the first time you said that and you aren’t now,” Luther says steadily.

“Well, aren’t you nervous? You are not in the van this time,” Benji shoots back as he checks the houses next to them while sometimes glancing down at the little paper he is holding.

“As if being in the van helped,” Luther says and Benji hums.

“Well, normally it does. You sure you want to go with me?” he asks.

“The last time there was someone in the van and someone out the van, the one out the van died. I want to prevent that if I can,” Luther says calmly. Benji swallows.

“And besides, if we can’t get one of those submarines with your sweet talks, two against many is more than one against many,” Luther chuckles and a very small smile appears on Benji’s (Ethan’s) face too.

“I thought you hated punching people,” Benji says with a grin, but his voice has some solemnity in it. Luther sighs.

“I hate punching people, or shooting people where I can look them in the eyes or doing any other thing to people that you guys do regularly, but if it means I can keep my friends safe?” Luther doesn’t finish his sentence, but Benji hums in understanding. Suddenly he stops before a stately house. The entrance rises a few feet off the ground, which you can reach by using a stair on either side of it, forming a sort of triangle leading to the door.

“You ready?” Benji says and Luther nods. After a brief moment of silence from the two of them, they walk up to the door and knock.

--..

“Look, a fish,” Grace says, voice sullen, but Degas doesn’t even turn his head to look.

“I doubt it,” he says as he keeps his eyes trained on the door at the other side of the canal.

“Well, if you weren’t so busy glancing back to me every few seconds, you could have seen him,” Grace huffs as she slowly crosses her arms before her chest. Degas sighs and turns around this time.

“Grace, we lost at least half of our group due to the motor bike chase, which means that we had to split up more, which means that I am currently the only one preventing you from running away to one of those grand hotels you talked about earlier,” he says as he gestures to the houses around them. Grace drops her hands and leans back against the backrest of the bench.

“And then?” Grace asks, serious now.

“Then what?” Degas reacts quietly as he turns back to the house again.

“What do I do when I have reached one of those fancy hotels? I don’t even have enough money to pay my measly twenty dollar debt to you and I don’t have any of those fancy masks to hide from you guys either so I don’t even get past the front doors if I somehow had enough money,” she says sadly and Degas musters up a small smile. He bumps his shoulders against hers.

“When all of this is over, you will get a contract and some money, a house, some time off, it will be ok,” he says but Grace sighs again.

“Yeah, if I live to see that day-“

“Hey, I’m going to keep you save ok, don’t worry.” Degas says as he turns back to look Grace into her eyes. She lifts her head a bit but doesn’t smile so Degas pats her on the shoulder and smiles for her.

“Besides, if I want twenty I gotta keep you alive,” Degas chuckles and Grace can’t help but roll her eyes at that too. She nods once and then turns back to the house, her face rigid, but not as pale as before.

Because she turned back, she didn’t see the smile faltering on Degas’ face as soon as he pulled his hand back from her shoulder, the crow’s feet next to his eyes smoothening as a sad frown appears on his face.

--..

The hall they enter is high, but narrow, with an even smaller staircase on their left to a dark second floor. Zola, who had opened the door, stares at the two men with narrowed eyes, but he does gesture for them to follow before he turns around and walks away, ignoring the staircase and walking towards a stately wooden door behind it. The door itself is polished and shining, but the doorframe is slightly dusty and a spider has made its home just above it, the thin web swaying gently in the slight air flow of the hallway.

They walk through the door and into a lavishly decorated room. The ground is covered in a thick carpet in which their feet sink deeply. Two large windows on their left bathe the room in a soft evening light, which casts long shadows on the ground when the two spies enter the room. Zola takes a stance next to the door as a soft gasp breaks the silence. Benji turns towards it stiffly, his back wooden.

“Mr Hunt, you don’t know how happy you make me with your appearance,” a soft voice says as Alanna Mitsopolis stands up from the soft chair she had been draped over and walks towards the two. She is wearing a simple white dress and is barefoot, her hair falling in uneven waves over her shoulders, some strands sticking out a bit haphazardly. Benji looks up at the name but doesn’t change his/Ethan’s expression.

“And so well dressed too!” Alanna coos as she slowly walks around Benji, her fingers delicately caressing his shoulder, neck and going to his cheeks. As she moves her hands that way however, Benji jerks back a bit, having to step back a little to keep his balance. A faint frown appears on Alanna’s forehead and the smile she was sporting earlier starts to fade. Precisely as the silence lengthens into something dangerous, Luther sneezes. Alanna’s head whips to the figure behind Benji and the smile returns.

“Who do we have here?” she asks softly as she steps away from Benji (Benji’s shoulders relax minutely) and towards Luther, who sneezes again.

“Marcel Wall, ma’am, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says nasally.

“The pleasure is all mine, Marcel,” she says as Luther sneezes again.

“Sorry ma’am, I am terribly allergic to cats, might there be any in the building?” Luther says and Alanna shrugs, losing her air of nonchalance a bit as she thinks for an answer.

“I don’t know really, maybe the couple who had suddenly won a lavish cruise in the lottery had?” she says, her voice returning to the honey sweet quality as the sentence progresses. Luther’s face contorts, but this time he manages to suppress the sneeze, gesturing helplessly at Alanna who smiles softly. She turns around again to Benji and starts to move, but Benji is quiker and is the one who closes the distance this time. Alanna’s smile turns into more of a grin as she lets him, caressing his bicep this time before she darts away again, back to the chair she was sitting on. Benji follows her swiftly.

“Hunt, darling, haven’t you-“ Alanna starts but Benji interrupts her.

“It’s Ethan, please, I think we are on first name basis now, don’t we,” he says softly as he steps a little closer again. Alanna’s face brightens.

“Well we are pretty close now don’t we, Ethan” she says as she slowly walks backwards, the hand on Ethan’s bicep returning and tugging him with her softly.

“I can’t deny that,” he says easily, grinning widely.

“I am glad we are on the same pace,” she whispers in his ear as she stops walking, and grabs something from the little table behind her. Benji takes a little step back and eyes towards the bulky envelope Alanna holds out in front of him.

“Here you go, controller of the submarine, truck to transport it is already in Russia, but here are the keys and a little bit of bribe money for eventual borders, that’s what you came here for, right?” Alanna explains and Benji nods slowly. He eyes the folder and carefully takes it, opening it swiftly and peering inside it.

“I reckon we can’t just walk out of here, right?” he asks. Alanna shakes her head swiftly.

“No, no, all Kittridge’ men and women are at the front keeping watch. You should take the back door, really,” she says and Benji frowns.

“Ah,” Benji says and he closes the envelope again, less neatly this time.

“You go off now, Kittridge will be here in-“ Alanna glances at the elaborate wooden wall clock, which reads twelve past eight.

“Three and a half minutes.”

“Already making deals with everyone else for that last submarine? You are a busy woman,” Benji says while gesturing to the single envelope left on the table. Alanna doesn’t reply but sends him a wide grin, before she gestures for them to go and she herself retakes her seat next to the little table. Benji hands the folder over to Luther and nods once to Zola, who opens the door for them and leads them to a small door at the back of the house. They enter a very small garden and go through a garden door into a small alley.

“Didn’t I tell you Ethan has wanted you to follow him?” Luther asks as they stride swiftly through the alley, now and then turning around to check if they aren’t followed. Benji hums noncommittedly.

“This went way too well for Ethan to not have been involved.” Benji says, a dark undertone in his voice.

“It amazes me you could even notice all that in between your murderous glares.” Luther dead pans. Benji turns towards him.

“I didn’t give her any ‘murderous glares’, Luther, because Ethan wouldn’t do too,” he says, slightly heated.

“And isn’t that the whole problem?” Luther murmurs before stopping at the end of the alleyway, keeping sure to stay in the shadows for now.

“Anyway, whatever Ethan did to get Alanna to finally help us, it wasn’t sex if you’re worrying about that.” Luther says and Benji’s eyes widen.

“What? I’ve never-. Ethan can do with his body whatever he wants!” Benji sputters as Luther hands him the neatly closed envelop from under his jacket.

“How did you know anyway?” Benji says surly, hesitating at the border of shadow and light.

“Alanna was practically draped over you. If she would have had sex with Ethan, she would have recognized you as being a fake,” Luther says and Benji rolls his eyes.

“As if that’s saying much. What if Alanna was just as much playing pretend as we were, and she knew I wasn’t the real Ethan in the first place?” Benji fires back and Luther thinks about it for a minute, before he has to give Benji a point.

“Great,” Benji says.

“Anyway, off you go, we can’t sulk here forever,” Luther says as he gestures for Benji to step into the light.

“I’m not sulking. But yeah, yeah, you’re right.” Benji begrudgingly sighs before he steels himself, pats the thin envelope and sends a last look at Luther.

“Thanks a lot, see you at the parking garage,” Benji says and Luther faux salutes as Benji promptly sprints out of the alleyway, making a sharp corner to the right and disappearing quickly out of view. Luther sighs and shakes his head.

“The parking garage, Benji. The one for which you have to go left,” he murmurs as he taps his foot steadily against the ground. Suddenly he hears Ethan’s voice again.

“Sorry! Sorry! Get out of the way! Sorry!” sounds as the spy races past the opening of the alley, remarkably steady on his bicycle, ringing the loud bell every so often to keep other people from colliding with him.

“You seem to get the hand of impersonating Ethan, Benji, gotta give you that,” Luther chuckles as he squares his shoulders and swiftly joins a big group of people that have stopped in front of his alley, letting the group take him away from prying eyes and into the bustling city of Amsterdam.

Chapter Text

Benji’s legs are pumping as he wills the bicycle to go even faster. He races through the small streets and bounces over curbs and uneven streeting. Every now and then he throws his head back to glance behind him. As a few figures melt out of the crowds behind him and start to follow him, he trains his eyes forwards and throws the treadles around even faster. He fights over a way too steep bridge and almost slips when he dives around the corner after it. With his breath high in his throat and his finger on the bell that rings way too brightly for the circumstances, he races past several befuddled people and even more completely unbothered ones.

As an engine growls behind him, he throws the wheel to the side and dives into a small alleyway, the busy hubbub of the city dying immediately as the air stiffens around him. He swerves around garbage bags and even more bicycles as he speeds alongside shady shopfronts and sleezy looking windows. Chatter starts to fill the air again as the alleyway widens a bit, the blinding sunlight of another big street bleeding into the musky shadows of the back alley. Hordes of people flow past the opening and Benji slams on the brakes, jumping of the bike as he doesn’t stop quickly enough. Because of his momentum he stumbles forwards and slams into the steering wheel, one of the handles hitting him squarely in the chest.

Benji groans as a flash of pain travels over his face. His knees buckle as he hangs heavily on the bike, trying his hardest to not topple over. Through wet eyes he dizzily searches for help in the crowd, but most of the people seem to either not see him or ignore him and he lets his head fall forwards. His chest heaves and his knees buckle under him.

He doesn’t get very long to relax however, as he hears rapid footsteps echo through the alley behind him. He hurriedly glances backwards and when he sees three people run towards him he throws the bike to the ground and jumps into the mass of people, elbows wide and rapid ‘sorry’’s firing from his mouth. He squeezes his way through rows and rows of people, stepping on toes and getting pushed around by irritated shoppers and tourists.

“Hunt!” he hears from behind him as he has progressed halfway the street. He feels the mass around him turning to look at the bellowing voice, but keeps powering through, his movements becoming more frantic as he feels the mood change. At first most of the curious people just look confused, but then some people get increasingly antsy.

“He’s got a gun!” From one moment to another everyone is running. People who hadn’t noticed the commotion yet are swept from their feet, children separated from parents and bags flying everywhere as the crowd surges away from everywhere to everywhere, the panic rippling like waves through the vast amount of people.

Benji stumbles as someone hits his back and before he can regain his footing another arm hits him in the chest, which makes him double over. People push and pull around him as he tries to stand up again, but before he can a child runs against him and together they topple on the ground. In their panic the kid kicks Benji’s head and Benji groans, his vision blurring around the edges. He struggles upright and, with a hand folded protectively around his head, starts to crawl towards the other end of the street.

--..

“What the hell, man, get that away!” Degas yells as he pushes Briggs against the wall of the alleyway, the wrist of the hand that holds the gun pushed above his colleague’s head.

“Let go, Degas! We’re losing him!” Briggs yells as he tries to wriggle his wrist free. Degas looks at him with wide eyes, but lets him go nonetheless. Together they watch the carnage in front of them for a second, eyes roaming around it in search of tuffs of brown hair. The big crowd slowly seeps away until it’s a more manageable amount people that are running around skittishly, grabbing fallen bags and searching for lost friends and family. Briggs’ eyes are roaming over the still decently filled street. Degas suddenly sucks in a breath next to him. A small child is wandering a little lost in the middle of the street. As the gaze of Degas falls upon them, her mouth wobbles and she starts crying loudly, dropping to sit cross legged on the street, big tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. He lightly swats his arm against Briggs to get his attention and the other man glances over to the girl, before he steers his searching gaze away again.

“Hunt, stay there!” Briggs yells as he dashes away, following a stumbling figure that dives into another alleyway on the other side of the street. Degas looks up, frowns, but steers his attention back to the little girl. He calmly makes his way towards her and squats down.

“Hello there, I am Degas, can I help you?” he says softly, smiling kindly at her. She stops wailing and sniffs, blinking with big, wet eyes at him. She says something in Dutch, but Degas recognizes “papa” in her mumblings and he smiles again.

“Papa? Ok we are going to find your papa! Do you see a searching father, Grace?” he asks absentmindedly as the little girl hides her face into his leg. He looks up, his eyes roaming around the street and immediately a frown appears on his face.

“Grace? Grace?!” he yells as he frantically looks around him, the brown-haired woman nowhere to be seen. He goes to stand up, but the girl grabs his sleeves and looks at him with trembling lips, keeping him squatted for now.

“Grace?! Damnit, Grace!” he curses as he desperately runs his hand through his hair. The little girl looks up at him and starts to giggle.

“Damit, damit, damit!” she starts to sing, her peril already forgotten. Degas just looks at her with huge eyes, blinking a few times, before he bites his lips and diverts his eyes.

“Mathilde, Mathilde!” suddenly sounds behind Degas and the little girl stops singing, her eyes widening as she suddenly surges away from Degas.

“Papa!” she yells happily as father and daughter rejoin with a big hug. Next to the father, Grace stands and Degas slumps a little, his frown disappearing from his face. Grace looks at him and gives him a little smile. Her hair is ruffled and her eyes are red and swollen, but she smiles at Mathilde’s father, who is thanking her profoundly in Dutch. After Grace smiles meekly at the man, he quickly walks away his arms tightly around his daughter.

“None of the grand hotels let you in?” Degas huffs as he stands up and nods to Grace. Grace doesn’t react, her eyes sullen. Degas frowns at her, but after a quick assessment he shrugs and glances around again. His eyes focus on the alley Briggs had bounded into and he makes his way over there, gesturing Grace to follow him, which she does.

--..

The traffic light jumps to red and Briggs groans. He glances to the right and skids to a halt, slamming on the little button of the traffic light as cars accelerate in front of him. On the other side of the road he just about sees a small figure dive around the corner. Briggs sighs and taps his foot. He sighs again and opens his jacket. His fingers curl around his gun, but he lets it go again as the light jumps on green. Without looking he throws himself on the biking lane to get to the corner sooner, ignoring the screeching brakes and angry comments behind him.

He sprints around the corner and frantically looks around him. His sights are blocked by hordes of people and he goes to stand on his tippytoes. This way he just about sees that a group of people, near the second street to the right, spread apart like a flock of doves if you throw a stone amidst them. Briggs lowers himself on his feet again and starts running, here and there slowing down to squeeze past a group that think they can use the whole sidewalk or to jump over a street musician. Briggs dives into the second street on the right and gets rewarded with another glimpse of brown hair diving around a corner.

“Tired already, Hunt?” Briggs huffs as he quickens his pace, his shoes ruffling on the street. He dives around the same corner not more than a few seconds after the other man has done. A wolfish grin appears on his face as he sees Hunt run not more than thirty feet in front of him. Ethan runs to the end of the streets, which crosses with one of the many canals of Amsterdam. He looks around and his eyes widen as he catches sight of Briggs. Briggs grins back and tries to run even faster. Ethan keeps running, but his steps are out of sync and as Briggs gets closer he even hears him gasping for air in short bursts, one arm folded across his chest, clutching a big envelope against it. Just as they reach the canal Ethan suddenly turns around and throws the envelop in a high arch towards Briggs. Briggs instinctively follows the envelop with his eyes to catch it. As he has done so and trains his gaze back forwards again, his eyes get big.

Ethan has disappeared from right in front of him. Briggs turns around frantically. A biker speeds towards Briggs and sends him an angry glare as he has to swerve around him. Briggs steps towards the canal and kicks against a bicycle that is parked against the railing that leads up to the bridge to his right, making it shift a bit forwards and almost topple over. Two hands become visible around one of the poles of the railing behind him, white from the strain that the owner puts on them. But Briggs doesn’t see those hands and he curses and squeezes the envelope until he tears a hole into it. He groans and turns around, giving up the search.

Benji, who has been hanging one the railing for dear life, the soles of his feet pulled up only a few inches above the smooth surface of the water as to not disturb it, waits for a couple of breaths before he puts his feet on the bricks in a search to find grip. As he has found some he quickly clambers up and over the railing, before he quickly looks around him and then dives into a group tourists close to him, finally managing to disappear into the masses too.

Chapter Text

Alanna shifts in her lavish seat. She clutches something on her chest before she throws another glance to the clock on the wall. It reads seventeen past eight and a delicate frown appears on her forehead. Just as she makes her way out of the seat, she hears the creaking sound of the front door opening. She quickly relaxes again and schools her face in a neutral and almost bored expression. As the seconds tick past and no more sounds are heard she coughs softly and steps out of the chair.

“Zola, don’t you know it’s rude to leave our guests wai-“ she starts as she makes her way to the door and opens it. As soon as she has done so her voice waivers and the sentence dies quickly as her face visibly pales.

“Zola?” she asks, her voice small as she sees her brother crumple in front of her, a gaping red slit on his neck leaking blood. Alanna catches the man and stumbles a few feet backwards, all the while staring with wide eyes to her dying brother. She lays him on the ground and puts her hand on top of the wound, but the blood oozes through her trembling fingers, staining them crimson.

“Zola? You bastard, don’t you die on me now! You are everything- everything I’ve got left, please don’t leave me,” she stammers as she keeps pressing on the wound, but the damage has already been done. Zola’s eyes glaze over, his eyes widened in fear. As Alanna sees this a strained gasp leaves her. Two tears make their way out of her eyes. They struggle their way through layers of makeup before gently dripping on the corpse of her brother. Alanna grasps the collar of Zola’s dress shirt and bows over him, her shoulders shaking.

“I’m sorry for your loss Alanna,” someone says softly from the doorway and Alanna stills. She raises herself up slowly, murder in her eyes and fingers straining around the fabric.

“You are not,” she says, her voice a soft and deceptively kind whisper.

“You are right, I am not sorry for killing him,” Gabriel says as he steps into the light of the big windows. Alanna lets go of the shirt with one hand, which travels carefully under her skirt before it grabs something.

“I am, however, sorry for causing so much pain in such a beautiful woman,” Gabriel says as he tries to smile at her. He steps closer to Alanna and Zola. In one swift movement Alanna gets up and bridges the space between her and Gabriel.

“Liar!” she yells as she grabs one of his wrists and pulls him towards her. The hand holding the knife sails towards his chest, but Gabriel twists around and throws her easily over his shoulder. Alanna slams against the chair and topples to the ground.

“Whatever I am,” Gabriel says as Alanna charges at him again, her hair a wild crown above her blazing eyes and hands dripping blood.

“Fact is,” he says as he dodges another swing of the knife and kicks Alanna against the knee, which makes her yell out from pain.

“You have something I need.” Gabriel swiftly grabs Alanna hair and pulls her head backwards.

“I’ll never hand it over,” Alanna grunts and another pair of tears struggle their way out of her eyes. She hooks one of her legs behind Gabriels knees and throws herself to the ground, pulling the bigger man on top of her. The crash knocks her knife out of her hand, but Gabriel does lose a little bit of his casual air as he too grunts out in pain. She throws her hands around wildly to find her knife and finds the legs of the little table instead.

“I wasn’t expecting less,” Gabriel grins, but that grin disappears immediately as Alanna slams the table against his head, the folder laying on top of it falling soundlessly on the carpet. Gabriel winces and Alanna uses the little wiggle room to shuffle back and kick him squarely on the jaw. Gabriel yells as his head gets thrown back, but recovers quickly enough to grab Alanna’s ankle, his nails digging into the soft flesh of her shin. He dodges a kick from Alanna’s other foot and leans aside to grab his knife from the holster on his thigh. Alanna throws herself around and manages to twist her ankle free from Gabriel’s grip. She kicks Gabriel again and hears a disgusting crack as her heel comes into contact with his nose. Gabriel yells, but Alanna just pulls her legs back and throws a few glances around the floor of the room. Her eyes catch on her knife, glinting softly in the low light of the sun from under her chair and she swiftly crawls to it.

As she arrives at the chair she dives around it, using the high backrest as temporary cover while she tries to grasp her knife from under it. As her fingers close around the cool steel the chair gets thrown aside, bathing her suddenly in orange light. The dying sun lights the blood on the dress on fire as Alanna throws herself upright and towards her assailant. She hits him squarely on the chest and together they topple over. One of Gabriel’s hands keeping her from smothering him completely and Alanna plants her knees on Gabriel’s thighs to keep him from twisting away. With a primal yell she stabs her knife through Gabriel’s wrist, using enough force to pin it to the ground. Gabriel gasps, but then he starts laughing.

“Now I’m truly sorry, Alanna. Because I missed,” he laughs through the pain that threatens to pull his face in an ugly grimace.

“Well I didn’t,” Alanna spits out as she grabs the hilt of her knife to pull it back again. Before she can do that however, Gabriel twists the hand that was caught between their bodies and Alanna gasps and doubles over. The necklace she is wearing shifts forwards and a golden cruciform key tumbles out of her dress. It dangles right in front of Gabriel and he grins.

“I thank you very kindly, Alanna,” he says as he yanks the key towards him with his uninjured hand. He sits upright, pushing the groaning Alanna off him by pushing against his knife buried in Alanna’s stomach. Alanna shudders as she collapses on the ground, another red stain developing on her already ruined dress.

“I missed, and you will survive that. Maybe.” Gabriel states as he toys with the key before sliding it into his pocket.

“You will never succeed. You don’t even know where you need to go,” Alanna throws out as she pushes herself up with trembling arms. Gabriel just grins.

"You are right, Alanna, but Ethan does,” Gabriel says calmly before he rips a strip of his ruined sleeve and wraps it tightly around his arm, just beneath his elbow. Alanna pulls herself towards him. Sweat beads on her forehead and she is heaving air into his lungs, but she gets closer by the second. Just before she has reached Gabriel he closes his eyes and swiftly pulls the knife out of his wrist. A pained gasp tries to escape from his throat but he swallows a few times and just shudders once. As weak fingers grip around the hem of his trousers he opens his eyes again. He throws the knife away carelessly and kicks Alanna on the head swiftly. As the woman crumples to the ground, Gabriel squares his shoulders, grabs the one remaining envelope from the ground and quickly leaves the room, leaving the carnage burning in the light of the dying sun.

--..

“Where is the bicycle?” Luther asks as he starts the engine. Benji quickly puts on his seatbelt and gestures broadly out the window.

“Lost it somewhere, I don’t know where, but Luther, that Briggs is very much crazy! Started waving his gun around in the middle of a busy street like it was nothing; I was almost crushed in the stampede.” Benji rambles as he leans his head against the headrest. Luther says nothing, but a frown appears between his eyes.

“What did you put in the fake envelop anyway? I had to throw it at him to get away.” Benji asks as he grabs the real envelop, carelessly crumpled shut and bulkier than the one Benji had brought with him on his flight. Luther laughs.

“The results of my games of Yahtzee I played while waiting for the computer to compute,” he says with a sly grin. Benji smiles softly as Luther steers the van out of the parking garage and leans over the steering wheel. Benji peers inside the envelope and grabs a controller out of it. With a bit of imagination you could see a game controller in it, but on the account of the number of buttons, the most probable closest connection is an F1-steering wheel. Benji turns it over in his hand.

“Do you think you can drive it?” Luther asks as he taps on the wheel, waiting for a red light. Benji frowns as he peers closer at the text on top of the buttons.

“Not without a manual, I don’t. And I don’t suppose you have a manual just ly-“ Benji says, but stops as Luther flicks open the glove compartment and a hefty book falls on Benji’s lap.

“Off course you have,” Benji deadpans as he puts the controller back into the envelope and opens the book. For a few minutes it stays silent, apart from the rustling of pages being turned and the occasional ticking of the blinker. Then Benji carefully shuts the book, keeping a finger in between the pages as a bookmark. As they safely make their way onto the highway, he looks up at Luther.

“Luther, Alanna has probably gotten the key from Ethan. Shouldn’t we go back and get it before going to Russia?” Benji says as Luther picks the lane that gets them to Schiphol Airport. He thinks for a bit, but then shakes his head in a no.

“The only way he could get two submarines from her is by handing over the key. Whoever has the key, which is either Gabriel or Kittridge and I’d wager a lot on it being Gabriel, will come to the Sevastopol to get the Entity’s source code, so he’s probably counting on them bringing the key back to him, just like Gabriel did on the train.” Luther says finally. Benji sighs.

“You think Ethan is still running to the Sevastopol without a key?” he asks as his frown deepens.

“I think Ethan is not only running to the Sevastopol, but running away from innocent people,” Luther says. Benji’s face lights up.

“You think it’s a trap?”

“What better place to fight each other than in an icy desert? No casualties in sight and no electronics where the Entity can interfere.”

“So we lure the people with the key into Ethan’s trap, warn Ethan about the code-“ Benji interrupts him, but Luther interrupts him right back:

“We have to get the code first.” Luther says and Benji’s eyes widen.

“I thought you said you found the code?”

“I said that there was a code, not the code.” Benji sighs but he veers up again, a new determination in his eyes.

“So Ethan did not leave me?” he mumbles, before he resumes louder: “Ok, we lure Kittridge and co. to Ethan, get the code from Gabriel, who will probably be there too, because off course he is, warn Ethan, get the Entity’s source code and then?” Benji asks and Luther fishes around in his inner pockets until he grabs a small black device out of it.

“Then we add this virus into the Entity’s source code, upload it-,” Luther says while gesturing with the black device. Benji nods.

“And kill the Entity.”

--..

“Damnit, why is nothing working like it is supposed to!” Degas grumbles as he and Grace make their way through Amsterdam, their paces hurried and faces grim.

“Because we are the minor antagonists in Ethan Hunt-The Movie?” Grace pants as she nearly runs besides him. Degas step falters and he looks over at Grace with raised eyebrows.

“Come on, have you seen that smile? If I’d write a movie I know who to make the protagonist,” Grace jokes and Degas’ mouth unfurls into a small smile.

“I don’t know, I’d quite like to be the protagonist some time,” he says as they turn left onto the busy street Benji and Luther had been walking on roughly an hour ago.

“Don’t I know that feeling,” Grace says darkly and for a moment the light tone gets buried under something heavier, but then Degas grins and swats Grace on the arm.

“Ah Grace you’d make an amazing protagonist,” he smiles. Grace rolls her eyes, but the dark frowns around her eyes relax a bit.

“Thanks, but no thanks, I’d rather not be the protagonist of this shit show,” she says as she gestures around them.

“If you were the protagonist of this story, where’d you go then?” Degas asks as they near Alanna’s temporary residence.

“Well, for starters, I’d like to be the ones who dealt with the dead body of Kittridge and not the ones who’ll walk right into Gabriel’s trap,” she says as she walks up the few steps towards the door. She opens her mouth to say something, but the sentence dies in her throat as she sees the door is ajar. She nods to it and Degas quickly steps in front of her. He grabs his gun and discreetly puts it in front of him, before he carefully pushes the door open further.

Grace and Degas make their way inside carefully. The hall is dark in the waning light of twilight, but there is enough light to spot black splatters of blood on the wall and Glace nudges Degas. Their breathing quickens as they make their way through the hallway, Degas with his gun in front of him and Grace hiding behind him, but with one of her knifes clasped in her hand. As they open the door to the living room, Degas’s breath catches. The white carpet is muddled brown with dried blood, Zola is lying stiffly to the side, several pieces of furniture lie strewn around and Alanna is crumpled in the middle of it, her platinum hair dull in the twilight. Degas steps inside and after quickly checking the room for other threats, puts his gun away. Grace goes towards Zola and carefully puts her trembling hand in his neck.

“Is he dead?” Degas asks as he kneels next to her, his hand already on his microphone to ask for backup. Grace nods and Degas curses. While Degas starts to talk softly in his microphone, Grace steps over towards Alanna and kneels next to her.

“Degas, I feel a pulse!” she hisses over to him as her fingers rest on Alanna’s neck as well. Degas looks up and nods quickly, before he resumes talking.

“Grace,” Alanna, suddenly with eyes blinking open, croaks out and Grace jumps. She opens her mouth and looks at Degas, but Alanna shakes her head slowly. Grace looks from Degas to Alanna and back at Degas, but then she sighs and bows closer to Alanna.

“Grace, I’m sorry. My fault. You here,” Alanna whisper and Grace balls her fists but doesn’t say anything.

“Gabriel. Key. Should have. Just given it. Ethan said.” Alanna resumes. Grace raises her eyebrows, but keeps quiet.

“Ethan. Has plan. Don’t. Stop. Ethan.” Alanna says, he voice weakening by the word.

“I can’t,” Grace whispers, her voice breaking.

“Please,” Alanna whispers, desperately grasping Grace’s shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Grace says as Alanna goes limp again, her hand falling back on her chest.

“Still a pulse?” Degas suddenly says and Grace startles away from Alanna.

“Yes,” she stutters and Degas nods. He quickly checks Alanna’s neck and curses.

“Help is on its way, but we have to go, Grace, come on,” he says as he hauls her upright. Together they hurry away, following the drops of blood that form a trail through the back door and the narrow alleyway behind the house.

“We’ll get him Grace. We’ll get the key from Ethan and make Gabriel pay for what he has done.” Degas says darkly as he pulls Grace with him.

“No, the key isn’t with-“ Grace starts, but then her face pales. Her knees buckle and she almost collapses, but Degas can catch her just in time.

“Grace! Grace, are you ok?” he asks while Grace blinks her wet eyes.

“Yeah, sorry, just got startled, that’s all,” she stutters. Degas narrows his eyes at her for a moment, but then he directs his gaze back in front of him and starts walking again, helping Grace as she hesitantly steps further as well.

“Yep. Let’s go get the key from Ethan,” she says as a tear frees itself from her eye and runs down her cheek. Degas doesn’t see it however, and as they burst out the alley into the busy street, Grace hurriedly wipes it away before he can.

Chapter Text

The vast emptiness of the ice is almost suffocating. All around them is ice, only ice. And a bit of snow. Stiff winds chase each other on the ice, throwing up snow in sparkling rainbows. The sky is stark blue but descends into milky white as it nears the horizon, melting seamlessly with the frozen ground.

“Never thought I’d ever end up in the Arctic of all places,” Benji jokes as he blows on his fingers again. All he gets from Luther is a muffled huff as the bigger man buries himself a little deeper in the his thick coat. Benji stops blowing and turns a page of the manual he is reading, before he quickly puts his gloves on again. The radio fizzles a bit in its faint attempt to pick up a signal as the angry growl of the engine fills the air between them. On the dashboard the GPS buzzes softly and Luther gazes to it now and then, turning the steering wheel in tiny increments.

After a while Benji carefully closes the manual, making sure all his bookmarks stay in place, and puts it aside. He then stretches a bit in his seat, softly groaning as his back muscles get relieved of the strain he had put them in before. He then relaxes in his seat again, burying in his thick coat too as the window next to him whistles softly.

“I do feel a bit bad for the person Alanna stole this one from. Look, they even have a kid!” Benji says as he points to the ruffled puzzle book on his side of the dashboard. The book is folded over so the visible page is some kind of number-letter puzzle, a few of the letters filled in with the shaky handwriting of a child.

“Well, with isolation like this I think the owner of this truck don’t mind that much.” Luther grumbles. Benji chuckles meekly as he gazes to the very thin glass. As his focus shifts from the glass to the sidemirror he gasps softly.

“Luther, we’ve got company.”

--..

“You don’t know how happy I am that this car has seat heating,” Degas sighs as he relaxes in his seat next to Grace. Briggs, at the wheel, doesn’t react.

“At least he arranged that,” Grace mumbles, her mouth pursed as she toys with the tranquilizer. Degas looks at her and sighs, his easy grin slipping off as easily as it had slipped on.

“Come on, Grace, why so sullen? You were the one who wanted to go with us,” Degas says softly, placing his hand on her shoulder. Grace shakes him off and sends him a glare.

“I did not! Briggs ordered me and since Kittridge is gone, he is the highest in rank on this mission and since I do in fact not have the choice you keep harping about at the IMF, I am here,” she spits out and Degas frowns.

“Is that true?” he asks Briggs.

“Grace is an asset of irreplaceable quality, unlike the others who were left on this mission. Therefore they had the choice to come like you had, but Grace didn’t,” Briggs answers before glancing through his heat detecting goggles at the two trucks far in front of them and adjusting the steering wheel.

“What? But that’s not how the IMF works! That’s not even how the CIA works at all. And I get Grace has an unique ro-“ Degas starts, but Briggs cuts him off with a pointed look in the rear view mirror and a sharp “Shut it, Degas,”. Degas does stop talking, but his brows stay furrowed and he doesn’t answer Briggs look in the mirror, instead dully looking outside.

--..

“Kittridge and co. or Gabriel?” Luther asks as he subtly revs up the engine a bit more.

“Unless the others have a truck too, this looks like Gabriel!” Benji yells on top of the heightened roar of the engine.

“Ok, we are near the Sevastopol, tell me how close he is!” Luther yells back as he grasps the steering wheel a little tighter.

“He’s closing in on us fast! How much longer?”

“Ten minutes? Maybe more?” Luther guesses and Benji purses his lips before shaking his head.

“We are not going to make that, he’s already halved the distance between us!” he yells. Luther nods and throws a glance in his side mirror too.

“Then let’s hope the Entity hasn’t got the coordinates from our GPS device,” Luther says as he squares his shoulders and looks at the other truck filling up more and more of the mirror, confirming that it is indeed Gabriel behind the wheel. As the truck suddenly disappears from Luther’s mirror, Luther curses and throws the wheel around, but he’s not fast enough and the whole truck shudders as Gabriel’s one hits the left rear tire. The sudden hit throws Benji against the window and he curses.

“I guess it has!” he shrieks. Luther just grunts as he fights with the wheel to keep control of the slipping vehicle. He manages to get the truck under control again and steers back to the original route, sending worried glances to the other truck, which has turned with them and now runs parallel to them. Awfully calmly Gabriel grabs a gun from his pocket and aims it at Luther. Before he can pull the trigger however, Luther steers away again, swerving to get out of Gabriel’s sights. But Gabriel moves with him like before and the first soft ‘pok’s rattle against the cabin already.

Suddenly the glass bursts because of a better aimed bullet and a burst of icy air fills the cabin. Luther flinches, but keeps two hands on the wheel. Benji grabs his own gun and aims to return fire, but Luther has already swerved away so Gabriel is out of sights again

“Just nine more minutes Benji, we’re almost there,” Luther grunts as Benji leans around him to get a better aim. More rattling follows as Gabriel gets nearer again. Luther throws the steering wheel back and Benji falls to the side, the gun going off in his hand and piercing the ceiling.

“Give me the gun, you go stop the other truck!” Luther says as he grabs the gun from Benji’s hand and immediately returns fire, obliterating Gabriel’s window too in seconds.

“Yep, yep, yep!” Benji yells as he loosens his seatbelt and starts to climb into the sleeping area behind the seats. Luther throws the wheel around again, but to the left this time and this time it is their truck that hits Gabriel’s instead of the other way around. Still, Benji gets thrown around again and yelps as he slams with his upper body against the wall.

“You ok?” Luther quickly asks as he sends a few bullets Gabriel’s way again. Benji mutters a pained affirmative as he searches the handle of the side window and throws it open.

While the trucks bounce on the uneven ice floor Benji clambers out of the sleeping cab and swings to the room between the truck and the trailer. He lands on top of a small metal platform and quickly grabs the side of the big container on top of the trailer to not fall backwards. He plasters himself against the container and slowly turns around.

“Ok, ok, ok, what would Ethan do, Benji? What would Ethan do if he were here,” Benji says as he tries to calm his heaving breaths. The two trucks near each other again and the answer to that question appears right in front of Benji, as the space between their metal platform and Gabriel’s metal platform becomes decidedly more jumpable.

“Oh no, not a chance!” Benji says weakly, but still he wills himself away from the trailer and grabs both the trailer and the cabin as he readies himself to jump.

Right as Benji throws himself forwards Gabriel veers off, widening the gap between the two trucks significantly. At the last possible second, Benji grabs a cable that spans between the container and the cabin, but his momentum yanks the cable loose from the cabin and Benji flies forwards still. The cable he’s holding tightens suddenly and Benji yelps. His feet are planted horizontally against the edge of the platform and his head is only a few inches away from the racing ground below, but he’s holding unto the cable tightly and, most importantly, he’s still alive.

He takes a deep breath, slowly turns around and hauls himself back upright, hurrying with it as the other truck nears again. Just as Benji is back between the trailer and the cabin again, Gabriel’s truck slams into theirs, crushing the air Benji had breathed only a second ago. Benji’s knees buckle as he leans against the trailer, the cable still tightly in his grip. His breaths are high in his throat and his heart is racing. As Gabriel hits them again, Benji hears a loud bang and feels the rhythm of the engine purring beneath his feet stutter.

“Shit shit shit shit,” he curses as he frantically looks around him. Suddenly his eyes fall on the container on Gabriel’s truck and his eyes widen. He leans over to the side window and takes a deep breath.

“Luther, in thirty seconds, you brake!” he yells and before waiting for a reply he turns back to the metal platform again. He pulls the cable fully from under the container and tugs on it a few times. Behind him the rattling of bullets hitting their car has stopped. After that he quickly searches for the hook on the end of the now significantly lengthened cable and clambers up the stair like indents until he’s on top of the container. As the wind whips in his face and his eyes water, he crawls until the end of the container, the cable still in hand.

The truck suddenly jumps forwards a bit, as the engine is breathing its final breaths, and Benji slides to the edge of the container. He can just about catch his toes on one of the ridges on top of the container and stops just before he fully topples of the edge. With trembling limbs Benji quickly clambers upright and shuffles to the right edge, hook of the cable still in hand. He reaches over and tries to put the hook through the hole on the corner of Gebriel’s container, but the constant tremble of both vehicles makes him miss constantly. Gabriel’s truck speeds up and Benji has to turn around and crawl back towards the cabin a bit before he can try again.

“Come on,” Benji pleads as he keeps failing. Just as their engine gives its final push, he manages to put the hook through the hole. And right as the cable tightens, Luther throws his feet on the brakes. The sudden deceleration throws Benji forwards and through the glass of the rear window, but it’s effect on Gabriel’s truck is even bigger

Because the cable goes from under the front of Luther and Benji’s container to the corner of the end of Gabriel’s container, that end suddenly gets pulled aggressively downwards. As their truck slips and slides over the ice, the left of Gabriel’s truck gets pulled up in the air before the whole colossus of metal and steel, slowly but surely, loses its fight against gravity and tips over, hitting the ice floor with a loud crash that shudders through the vehicle. It slides a few feet over, creating an anker for Luther and Benji to stop their truck too before it stops in its tracks, the once mighty beast finally slain.

“That wasn’t what I was expecting,” Luther says drily as he balls his shaking hands into a fist. Benji groans from behind him.

“Well, I don’t think Ethan would have done it quite that way,” he croaks out as he clambers back into the passenger seat, cradling his chest and his face contorted in a wince.

“It’s what Benji did though,” Luther says and he gives Benji a soft smile, his eyes twinkling. Benji returns the smile as they both breathe a few times in the relative calm. After that Benji squares his shoulders and opens the door.

--..

“Holy shit,” Briggs breaths softly as he looks through his binoculars again.

“What, what happened!” Grace asks, her voice high and her hands shaking Briggs’ shoulder in front of him. Briggs grunts and shrugs her hand off his arm. He throws the binoculars on the passenger’s seat and the car shoots forwards, throwing Grace back into her seat.

“They toppled that other truck,” Briggs says as the trucks starts to grow bigger and bigger in the view of their front window.

“They did what?!” Grace shrieks as Degas yells: “Wait who?” They both lean into the space between the two front seats as they strain their eyes.

“Oh, there’s Ethan!” Grace says as she points to a man jumping out of the still upright truck.

“Come on, come on,” Briggs mutters as he taps the wheel. As their car gets closer and closer to the two trucks, Ethan clambers on the fallen truck, opens the door and jumps into the cabin