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He’d sat by Benji’s bed before.
Once in Berlin, after a particularly bad car crash. Ethan had been driving, of course, and the agent they’d been pursuing (Ethan can’t even remember why now) had turned and shot at the car. Ethan still remembered the rattle of the bullets hitting the windscreen, and the way he pulled Benji out of the way just in time. But that action made him swerve and hit the curb, and the car had tipped over. Benji had been knocked unconscious and this time, he did not wake up in minutes. It had taken several hours.
After that, Ethan made sure that Benji always rode in the back seat.
And then there was that time in Barcelona. Not an accident this time, but poison, very slow acting, slipped into Benji’s coffee one morning. It had taken several hours before they realised that Benji’s aching limbs and sore head wasn’t a sign of flu, but of something worse. The memory of Benji’s eyes widening as he realised what had happening, and then stumbling towards Ethan, reaching out for him, only to collapse into his arms is still strong. They’d only just got the antidote in time.
After that every time anyone (but especially Benji) got so much as a sniffle, they were immediately checked for poisons.
Kashmir. That one sends Ethan cold. Benji had been up and walking about. He knew Benji had been hurt, but Benji had insisted he was fine, and he seemed fine, running about the camp, helping Erika Sloane and Julia and Luther and somehow never quite managing to spend more than ten minutes at a time with Ethan. (Ilsa had dodged all the questions about what, exactly, Lane had done, no doubt on Benji’s orders. Ethan knew how determined Benji could be) And then Ethan, feeling well and strong for the first time in weeks had gone to Benji’s tent to annoy him – and found Benji unconscious on the floor. Ethan had panicked for a moment, thinking Benji was dead, oh dear god, what had happened, how could this have happened – and he’d picked Benji up and ran with him to the hospital tent.
A side effect of the hanging, Julia said as she carefully hooked up an IV to an unconscious Benji and took his measurements. Sometimes they could manifest themselves weeks after the event, she’d said, along with how she had warned Benji but he’d just carried on anyway, just like you do. And Ethan had stared at her, wide-eyed and broken, and said;
‘Hanging?’
That was when the entire story came out, along with Ilsa saying that Benji had been very firm that Ethan was not to know.
‘I don’t want him worrying, and slowing down his recovery,’ Benji had said – but Julia had a different interpretation.
‘He didn’t want you to know he failed,’ she said softly, placing a chair beside Benji’s bed for Ethan. He hadn’t asked for one, he had just stood there, staring down at Benji, stupefied. She gently pushed him down into the chair. He never took his gaze off Benji.
‘He didn’t fail,’ Ethan said. ‘He – he did it all. He’s the reason you’re alive, not me. He didn’t fail.’
‘Tell him that,’ Julia told him. ‘He’ll be sedated for a few hours, but sometimes people can hear what is said to them.’
Later, Julia returned silently to see Ethan bent over a sleeping Benji, holding his hand, softly whispering words of praise. Julia caught the words ‘brilliant’ and ‘astonishing’ and then the words ‘stubborn’ and ‘obstinate’.
When Benji woke up, Ethan shouted at him for a full ten minutes about not letting Ethan know what had happened to him. And Benji being Benji, he shouted back that Ethan was just as bloody bad and he had no right to tell Benji off for concealing injuries when Ethan did it all the time.
After that they were both very conscientious about telling the other when they were hurt. They had learned their lesson.
Except it was a lesson Benji appeared to have forgotten or decided to ignore now he was team leader because here Ethan was again, by Benji’s bed, watching him tremble on the edge of dying from a wound he hadn’t told Ethan about.
Ethan had thought seeing Benji’s cut and torn face was bad enough. He had sent Benji far away from the Vault the Entity had shown him, the one with Benji’s dead body, and surrounded him with an assassin and an agent and Grace, and assumed that would keep him safe. He had even told Grace to keep off the ice (thinking she would obey, and knowing Benji would not). When he had been told that his friends were likely heading into a siege, he had hoped Benji would be sensible enough to keep his head down and not get caught up on it (whilst knowing that was extremely unlikely and Benji would be the first one to rush in. Ethan only hoped Degas would be sensible enough and Paris murderous enough to insist on being the first ones through the door).
When the plane had landed on the ice, Ethan had scrambled out of the decompression chamber only half dressed, ignoring Grace’s outraged cries to put some bloody clothes on, Ethan! He had found himself running across the ice, desperate to see Benji, to hold onto him, sliding and slipping on the snow. It had been hell, being apart from Benji, and he’d known that hell before, being separated from Benji was an old pain. But with Luther gone, and the memory of Ilsa still fresh, Ethan’s mind had been filled with loss. He had been certain he was going to lose Benji too, no matter what he did to keep him safe. He had closed his eyes and dreamed of seeing him again. There had been a moment of panic, when he had woken up in the long night and seen what he thought was Marie beside him and demanded to know where Benji was, it was supposed to be Benji there, what happened to Benji? And Marie!Grace had reassured him gently that Benji was coming, and Ethan had slept to dream of reunions with all his lost loves.
But still he needed to see Benji in the flesh, and hold onto him, be assured he was real, and there, and alive, and the need had become pressing, burning, scorching his soul. And then there he was, alive and well, and scrambling out of the plane to get to Ethan.
Ethan had run to him, not caring how it looked. He didn’t care what anyone else thought any more. He stumbled his way across the ice and thrown his arms around Benji, clasping him close, feeling the heartbeat and the breath and the flesh. Real, thank god, real.
But when he pulled back he could see was the burn marks on Benji’s fingers, and the cuts across his face. Even as Benji had cried out ‘you’re not even dressed, Ethan, what the hell is wrong with you?’ and torn off his sweater to pull over Ethan’s neck, Ethan had stared at the injuries. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks, Ethan, honestly,’ Benji said, leading Ethan into the plane. ‘Are you ok?’
‘Benji…’ Ethan had murmured, his mind still befuddled by the ice, and thinking Grace was Marie, and the cold.
‘Are you ok?’ Benji repeated firmly, holding Ethan still and looking into his eyes. ‘Hmm. Well, as ok as you ever are I suppose. By the way, we’ve picked up a passenger, one you’ll want to meet. Well, two passengers, one for you and one for me.’
‘Benji…what happened?’
‘A bookcase fell on me. Ethan – Luther?’
‘A bomb. He saved all of London, Benji. He…’
They’d cried then, Benji sobbing, and Ethan trying to hold back the tears – now was not the time to cry, not now, not before it was over. He’d lost Luther and it looked like he had almost lost Benji and Briggs was right, he should be used to it by now, but he never was. He held Benji close, letting him sob, letting himself cry. A joint mourning by the only two left alive who had known Luther since the old days. A shared loss to bind them together even as it scored their hearts.
But there was no time, never any time to mourn.
Benji had waved away Ethan’s attempts to treat him, and Ethan knew he had learned that from him. Ethan had sat in the plane, listening to the plan, so overwhelmed with guilt he could barely look at Benji.
Benji had taken him aside before they landed. Ethan was getting changed into clothes Benji had bought, a perfect fit, as always. Benji had been buying clothes for Ethan for years now, back up shirts for the ones he tore, neatly fitting suits for those emergency parties, soon to be sliced up by knives and gunshots. Benji knew every measurement, where he needed them to be loose and where tight, what his preferred colours were. It didn’t escape Ethan’s notice that Benji had bought him brown and white this time, not black. The same colours as everyone else. Benji, an expert on using clothes as markers, camouflage and meaning, was marking Ethan not as a solo agent, but as one of his team. Ethan allowed himself a moment to stroke the soft leather of the jacket. It really was beautiful. He hoped it would last the mission. And gloves, to cover up the trace of frostbite from the ice. Benji really did think of everything.
‘Once again, may I remind you that my injuries are not your fault,’ Benji told him.
‘Benj…’ Ethan said softly. ‘I sent you there…’
‘I got off easy. I didn’t have to swim through a crashing submarine and then up to the ice. Neither did I have to mush across the ice or try to send the message as my home burned down around me.’
‘Grace did well,’ Ethan admitted.
‘Of course she did. I taught them all how to use the chamber and CPR before we arrived, just in case I was delayed. I wasn’t risking anything happening to you. And just to point out, I’m just as good a diver as you are, and I understand the tech. I could have done that part easily but I didn’t object when you said you were doing that.’
‘I know. Thank you…’
‘Stop it, Ethan. We’ve been agents a long time, and we’ve both very lucky not to get more badly hurt than we have been. There’s nothing you can do to keep me safe, and I wouldn’t want you to.’
Ethan looked up, his eyes full of guilt, and smiled, softly and sadly.
‘I can’t bear to see you hurt,’ Ethan admitted and Benji drew a breath. Ethan knew Benji wasn’t used to hearing Ethan talk like that, but ever since Austria, and the train crash, Ethan had been more expressive than before. He no longer restrained his impulses. He reached for Benji all the time, hand shakes and hugs and clasps and grasps, as if he couldn’t bear to let Benji go and wanted to physically hold him close. He said things, things about how much Benji mattered, how important he was to Ethan. If this ended soon, if he – if he died, as he half expected to, he wanted Benji to know that he mattered. That – that he had been loved. So deeply, so much. He at least wanted to leave Benji with that. That was all there was time for.
‘Hey, if a few bumps and scrapes are all I come out of this with, I’ll consider myself lucky,’ Benji said. ‘And you – look after yourself down there, ok? No heroics. Trick Gabriel into taking the podkova and get out. And I’m not just telling you this as your friend, but also your team leader, ok?’
‘Yes, Benji,’ Ethan said.
And now he sat by Benji’s bed, watching his heartbeat on the monitor, terrified the peaks and troughs would flatten out. How had he not realised that Benji learned to be team leader from him, and he would have absolutely hidden a killing wound from his team to get the job done?
Ethan leaned forward and straightened the blanket where it had got rucked up. That was all he could do. All he was capable of.
Well, no. He was capable of a lot more. He was capable of getting Benji hurt and damaged and dying and…
He leaned back, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He’d had a feeling, the past few weeks. It hadn’t occurred to him that it wasn’t his own death that was coming, it was Benji’s. He kept thinking – all those times Benji had rushed into danger – not spontaneously, as Ethan did. No, Benji would know danger was there, know he was in trouble and go in anyway. And half the time it was to rescue Ethan.
He twisted the knife round and round in his hand. The knife that had saved Benji, in an assassin’s hand.
The knife Donloe had kept all these years, first as a reminder of what he had lost, and then as a reminder of what he had gained.
The knife that had killed Sarah.
All his choices had come to this, Kitteridge had said. Yes, they had. All his choices had led to him sitting here, waiting by Benji’s bed. All his life now depending on the life of the man lying in front of him.
He had been asleep for so long.
‘Benji,’ Ethan said softly, and then coughed, trying to make the words sound louder, to get through to him. Julia had told him once Benji could hear him when unconscious. ‘Benj…we did it. We stopped Gabriel and the Entity and – we did it. You and me.’
Benji didn’t even twitch.
Ethan intertwined his fingers with Benji’s. He’d dreamed of doing this. In the past few days, he’d reached out to do this – but they always had to be separated. Benji had to go somewhere else, and so did Ethan and he had hated it, had hated being apart from him, had been terrified something would happen to Benji and Ethan wouldn’t be there.
And in the end Benji had been shot right in front of him and Ethan hadn’t seen a thing. The guilt overwhelmed him.
He’d had moments like this before. Heavy, dark moments, where the burden of living, of his life bringing so much pain to others, had been too much for him. Then Luther had pulled him out of it, seeing the darkness and talking him out of it. And Benji – all unknowing, not even trying to, had dissipated it. Benji, with his absolute faith in Ethan, sticking by his side, no matter what. Right from Russia Benji had lifted the sorrow in the soul, and Ethan wasn’t sure if he even knew he was doing it. Benji being beside him had always given him hope. If someone as good as Benji could find hope in Ethan, maybe he wasn’t so bad.
Look what he had done to Benji.
There had never been time to think about this before. No time for regrets or sorrow or pain. Just – get the mission done and move onto the next one. But now there was nothing but time, and silence and the night, and it was all hitting Ethan at once. All those emotions he’d put off feeling until there was time.
He brushed the hair off Benji’s forehead. Much longer than he used to wear it. Still stained with blood.
He had time to talk to Benji now. What would he say?
‘I’m sorry,’ Ethan whispered. ‘I’m sorry for it all. For Lane, and Gabriel and everything. I should have been there. I should have seen. I should have – I don’t know, Benji. I should have done everything different. I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t have kept you with me, should have sent you away in Russia, should never have called you in Shanghai.’
Ethan thought about it. What would his life have been without Benji? Empty. Hopeless. Darker. But at least Benji would have been spared. Perhaps it would be best if he left. Just walked away and left Benji alone. He had been an excellent team leader. He had always been a fantastic agent. He had never really needed Ethan, not really. All Ethan had done was lead him into unimaginable danger. Not to mention all the going rogue and orders to kill and branded a traitor. Never mind sharing a jail cell, Benji had been lucky not to be shot beside him. He should go…
And then Ethan felt Benji’s hand twitch. Just slightly, the merest pressure of his fingers.
‘Benji?’ Ethan whispered. Benji’s hand tightened on his. ‘Benji?’
Benji breathed, opening his mouth slightly, and his head turned towards Ethan.
‘Benji, I’m here,’ Ethan said. ‘You’re ok, you’re alive, you’re in hospital.’
‘Ethan?’
Benji opened his eyes and looked at Ethan. Even now, even in bed and injured and sedated, he did his usual assessment of Ethan, looking him up and down, searching for pain and injuries. Apparently, he was satisfied, because he nodded, and held onto Ethan’s hand even more.
‘My team?’ Benji asked, and Ethan found his heart swelling at the sound of that. Benji’s team. That sounded right. That sounded how it should be.
‘All well and unhurt,’ Ethan said. ‘You did good, Benji. You looked after them.’
‘You’re part of the team too,’ Benji said, in a whisper.
‘You looked after us,’ Ethan said, and his voice cracked. ‘I’m ok. We saved the world.’ Still Benji looked at him, puzzled, worried, frowning. He tried to push himself up, and Ethan stood up, helping to rearrange the pillows, propping Benji up. He turned to leave, to get the doctors, but Benji still had hold of his hand, and refused to let go. Ethan sat down again, and looked at Benji, alive and real, and not dead. Beating the Entity, again.
They were like that for a long time, just looking at each other, just taking in the sight of each other. There was time for this now. They had time now.
Eventually, Benji spoke.
‘You’re not to abandon me,’ he said sternly.
‘Benji…’
‘I can see it, Ethan. I know how you think. I know you think what happened to me is your fault, and what happened to Luther and what happened to Ilsa and god knows who else. And now you think the world doesn’t need you and you’ve finally got a chance to go and punish yourself. Well I need you. So stay. Stay with me.’
Ethan felt the tears fall down his cheeks. Benji read him so well. Benji knew him.
‘I…’
‘No arguments,’ Benji said, sighing and laying back against the pillows.
‘Benji…’
‘I won’t let go,’ Benji said firmly. ‘Never. Even if we have to separate for a while. I’ll find you again. I won’t let you go.’
‘Why? After…’
‘The same reason you won’t let go of me,’ Benji said, very softly. ‘There’s time, now, Ethan. There is nothing and no one to stop us. No reason not to be – not to be everything and anyone we want to be to each other.’
Ethan looked at him. Everything and anyone for Benji. The prospect was dizzying. It was a precious gift he didn’t know what to do with – it was too fragile, too important, he couldn’t be trusted.
‘Am I wrong?’ Benji asked, suddenly uncertain. ‘Have I read you wrong?’
‘No…’ Ethan replied, needing to reassure. ‘I want to be with you, Benji. I – I love you. I never thought I’d say that. I never thought – those are dangerous words, for me – the people I say them to…’
‘I love you,’ Benji said quickly. ‘I have never said those words, to anyone, ever. The only face I have for those words is yours, Ethan. And maybe that’s too much, maybe you don’t want to take on the responsibility of being the only one I’ve ever loved, but – for me, I think of love and I see you. Just you. Alive and with me.’
‘The only one?’ Ethan said, brushing Benji’s cheek. That couldn’t be right. Benji – Benji was bursting with love. He could see it, in the way he was with Paris and Grace and Luther and – and the way Benji looked at him. All the time. Right back to Vienna.
‘I mean – I haven’t been a monk,’ Benji said, blushing. ‘There’s been – you know. But – it was never love until – from the minute I met you – maybe not the minute – maybe it took a while – but you…just you.’
Ethan lifted Benji’s hand up to his lips and kissed his palm. Benji shivered. How could Ethan turn this down? How could he walk away from giving Benji all the love he could give?
‘Ethan…’
‘Don’t let go of me, Benji,’ Ethan said. ‘Never let go.’
‘Never,’ Benji breathed, as reverently as Ethan. ‘We’ve got time now.’