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Chapter Text

Ethan Hunt is a collector.

As a child, his mother had collected little china figurines. The two of them had wandered from yard sales to thrift shops, searching them out. She always bought the ones no one else wanted, the dirty, broken ones, forgotten at the back of the shelf.  Then she would take them home and mend them, her hands delicate and gentle, fixing the cracks not just with glue, but with gold paint.

‘It’s a Japanese skill,’ she explained to Ethan, as he watched her closely. ‘The cracks don’t have to be hidden or be invisible. The cracks are there, but they add to the beauty of the piece.’

‘But then everyone knows the little china shepherdess is damaged,’ Ethan objected.

‘Damaged doesn’t mean worthless,’ she said softly, stroking the cheek of her intense little boy. He felt so much for all the broken things. She wasn’t sure how he would survive would the world out there, once he was grown. ‘The damage shows she was hurt, but she got better, she’s still with us, and we can look after her and love her. The cracks are still there, they will always be there, but the gold makes her whole again.’

Evey Sunday, he had helped her get the figurines down and clean them gently, while she told him stories about their adventures. His mother had been a storyteller as well as a collector.

But that was a very long time ago, when Ethan Hunt had a home.

When he had lived with Julia, he had collected vinyl jazz records, and old postcards of far off lands, sent in the days before phone calls were common, and maps of transit systems from all over the world (there was a reason he’d chosen the cover he had.) He had a garage full of broken knick-knacks, boxes rammed with gadgets that had just stopped working, toys that wouldn’t play any more. On Sundays he sat in the garage and fixed them all and sent them back out into the world.

All that was gone now, he supposed. He’d paid a company to clear the entire house out, not being able to bear to go back there.

Now his home – no, any place he lived - was bare.

He still collected though. He perfectly recognised in himself that his mother’s urge to collect and mend came out, in him, with people. He wanted to collect them, and mend them, and look after them, and send them, shiny and painted with gold to face the world. And of all the people he collected, the most precious and the most broken was Benji.

Oh, he put on a good show, especially in the beginning. A constant laugh on his face. An intense competence. That soothing babble. But Ethan had recognised something in him right from the start. He had looked across the crowded tech room and then walked unerringly to Benji to ask for help. He had looked at him and thought ‘I can look after him. He needs me to look after him.’

What had he not expected was that Benji had looked up at him and thought exactly the same.

No-one had thought that about Ethan since he was a child. They had thought to use him, love him, help him, betray him, deny him, use him again and again. There had been passion, and there had been betrayal. But Ethan’s fierce independence had driven away (gently, kindly, but firmly) all attempts to look after him.

Until Benji.

But as Benji looked after him, Ethan forgot that he had known Benji needed looking after too.

After every mission, Ethan would check his team was ok, they’d got treated, the mission was done, and then they would split up and go their separate ways, no contact.  It was safer that way and anyway, the IMF did not encourage friendships outside of missions. Agents should be free to float from team to team.

And then Ethan would find a warehouse somewhere and wait for the next mission. He could have had a home. He had one, once. But home came with memories of Julia, and then came the guilt, so he avoided them. So he camped out in bare warehouses, and read mission reports, and exercised hard in the bare space, and practiced climbing up buildings (not his beloved Rockies) and ran around the industrial district (nowhere pretty) and slept uneasily, strange, eerie dreams haunting him, and waited to be called again.

He had tried once, to recreate the home he’d had with Julia. But it had seemed false somehow, like he was playing the game and not meaning it. He had realised that home, for him, was not a place, but a person, and he had lost that person. So it was better to be here, to be in a place he cared nothing for, that was purely functional, until he was needed again.

The cracks ran deep, but he hid them behind that functional black t-shirt, the stoic smile.

He kept the warehouses bare for a reason - easier to leave, easier to stock, easier to run away if he had to. And with that, underneath, he was uneasily aware that he felt he didn’t deserve more. Not that he didn’t need more – but he didn’t deserve the comfort of a soft bed, or warm cup of coffee. Not when he wasn’t on a mission. Only then could he justify looking after himself.

But as he walked into the warehouse this time, he found a difference. A heater cast a warm orange glow across the room. A thick wool blanket was on the bed, with a pillow. It felt – it felt almost welcoming. If not home, at least more comfortable.

He hadn’t asked for any of this. Only the camp bed. And yet here it was.

He examined the blanket and the heater carefully, looking for traps, but they seemed clean. He went for a run, and then a climb around the building, warily glancing back at the warm bed from time to time, trying to puzzle it out.

Eventually he had to sleep. He curled up in front of the heater, wrapped the blanket around himself, and allowed himself a moment of luxury in the warmth.

When he slept he dreamed peaceful dreams. And for some reason, Benji was in all of them.

When he came back for the next mission, he found everyone seemed a lot less tense than they usually were. And the mission itself felt different. It was Benji, Luther and Brandt again (all requested by Ethan) and they felt like they worked as a unit – not a disparate group of agents gathered together for a one mission, but an actual team. And this kept happening – this new feeling. There was still a constantly cycling group of agents – not the same people every time (except Benji. As soon as he got his orders, Ethan’s first task was to request Benji. And somehow, Benji never seemed to be already assigned to another team.) but they began to work together smoothly, to anticipate each other’s needs, to know instinctively when they needed help. There even began to be shared jokes, and a touch of comfort. Not family, perhaps, but friends. They were becoming friends.

As the missions went on, Ethan picked up a few details that explained this new bonding of theirs.

How Benji had been taking Jane to her medical appointments. How he dragged Brandt away from his desk for lunch. How he constantly texted Luther with updates on the work he was doing. How he made a point of going down to the tech division and lending a hand on whatever they were working on. How every agent that Ethan had ever met or worked with seemed somehow to know Benji, and like Benji.

At first Ethan had thought this was a well-planned tactic by Benji  to make sure everyone around Ethan was loyal, and ready and helpful. And perhaps to a certain extent it was. But – but it also seemed to be just how Benji was. He truly wanted to look after people.

It was useful.

It was very useful.

It was – oddly moving.

It was like no one else Ethan had ever known. (It was true, Luther had appointed himself Ethan’s guardian almost immediately. But Luther had never extended that to anyone else, being wary and mistrustful of anyone new. Except for Benji.  Luther had taken to Benji straight away.)

After his next mission, when Ethan turned up at his warehouse to find not only a heater and blankets, but a box of protein bars, lots of water, and a note from Benji with his number and telling Ethan to look after himself and call if he needed anything, Ethan realised something.

He collected people. He always had. He made friends and gathered those friends around him (for a certain definition of friend). But Benji – he collected those people too. And once Ethan had them, Benji took care of them. They gravitated towards Ethan at first like drowning people reaching for a lifeboat, but once Ethan pulled them in, it was Benji who saved them and helped them and fixed them. Painted gold in the cracks.

And now Benji had collected Ethan too. He was taking care of Ethan.

Ethan sat on his bed and almost cried. He didn’t know what to do with this. How to be cared for, how to allow himself to be looked after. How to know that his well-being was just as important to Benji as everyone else. How to know that Benji didn’t see him as the mysterious figure that slipped away at the end of the adventure until needed again, but a friend who needed – who deserved – warmth and food and comfort.

Ethan sat staring at the note for a while.

‘Hope you’ve got everything you need. If not I can get more. I can also get you a nice warm bed in a nice warm apartment if you ever wanted. Call me. Not just for a mission, but if you fancy a chat. Benji.’

Ethan stared at the note for a while. Then he picked up his phone and rang the number.

‘Hey, Benji? Fancy – I mean – I could do with lunch – fancy joining me?’

Ethan got used to Benji taking care of him. He didn’t take it for granted – he practically wept with relief when he got to the warehouse after London and found the usual supplies (how did Benji even find him?). He treasured every little gift Benji left for him. He didn’t allow himself to have personal possessions but he found a locker where he could keep the little snowglobe Benji had left for him one Christmas, the occasional notes, the warm sweater embroidered with reindeer. But – this was the way his life was. He hid, and Benji reached out and looked after him.

So after Kashmir, when Benji wasn’t doing that, he felt his absence sorely. Not just the absence of Benji’s care, but Benji himself.

He hadn’t seen Benji much in Kashmir. He’d been there, Ethan knew, while he was asleep. He would stir awake just long enough to see Benji’s shape in the darkness, sitting by his bed, just watching him. Once Ethan managed to wake up enough to reach out and Benji had taken his hand.

‘We almost lost you there, Ethan. Don’t do that again, will you?’

‘No promises,’ Ethan slurred. ‘But I will try.’

But the drugs were heavy and Ethan was so tired and he slept a lot. When he was awake, he asked Julia and Ilsa and Luther about Benji and they said he was fine – but they were keeping something from him, he knew.

‘Not my story to tell,’ Ilsa had said. ‘I can’t betray Benji’s confidence.’

‘Come on, it’s me,’ Ethan said, trying to be charming. But to be fair, Ilsa had never really been fooled by Ethan’s charm. ‘No. I owe him far too much to risk his friendship now,’ Ilsa had said. And Ethan had fallen asleep, touched to know Benji had added Ilsa to his collection of friends.

But Erika Stone had, surprisingly, turned out to be incredibly perceptive when it came to Benji. She seemed to be making up for her blindness over Walker by paying especially close attention to the people around her, by displaying some of that laser sharp perception that had got her to the head of the CIA, before she became too reliant on Walker. And that perception had been switched onto Benji. She appropriated him almost immediately, and had him doing all kinds of tasks for her, going through Lane’s records, and the gear he had left behind and dismantling the last of the Syndicate. All of which meant Ethan barely got to see Benji when he was properly awake.

He complained to Erika about it (god knows when he’d taken her to calling her Erika, but the only person he ever called by surname these days was Brandt. But to be fair, the only person who ever called him Will was Benji) and she replied.

‘You’re not using him right now, and he’s too valuable to keep doing nothing. He really is quite brilliant.’

‘He really is,’ Ethan said. ‘Most people don’t see it.’

‘I see it,’ Erika said softly. ‘I’m not stealing him from you. I’m borrowing him from you.’

‘Be sure you give him back.’

‘I will. I have work in mind for you, Mr Hunt, and you need Benji Dunn for that. But for now – I need him.’

‘I need him,’ Ethan said, before he could think about it.

‘He’s free to come and go as he wishes. I’m not keeping him from you.’

But Ethan held onto the excuse that Benji was busy working for Erika and had no time to come to see Ethan. Surely there’d be no other reason for Benji to avoid Ethan.

So all in all, somehow Ethan managed to not really see Benji until everyone had left Kashmir, and it was time to find a warehouse again. Benji had left days earlier, hurried back to Washington by Erika, and that was where Ethan had chosen his hiding place this time. He rushed in, wondering what Benji had left this time, if there’d be a note with his number on, or just an open invitation to come and stay. He’d taken to leaving that lately and this time Ethan would take him up on it. He had missed Benji so much. He wanted to see him, for things to go back to how they had been.

But the warehouse was bare. It was cold, and the dust was still and untouched and nothing but rats and spiders had ever been there.

And then Ethan was afraid.

He called Luther who said he’d been trying to find Benji too.

‘He avoided me in the camp, once you were back, and you know I had to leave early – he sent a few emails but – they sort of seemed forced, you know? But I thought – he’s with Ethan, he’ll look after him.’

Guilt cramped Ethan’s stomach.

‘I – no. No, I didn’t. Do me a favour and see if you can find him, will you?’

‘I’ll try, but Ethan – finding people is Benji’s skill. And I’m pretty sure if he wants to be hidden, he knows how to stay hidden.’

‘Why would he want to stay hidden?’

Luther was silent on the other end. Then he said…

‘Benji makes sure you only see the Benji you need to see. Not just you, he does that to all of us. There’s a lot he hides from us – and maybe this time – maybe this time he just needs to be alone – just – not carry on that game for a while.’

Something twisted hard in Ethan’s gut and he felt his eyes prick with tears. He had known that once, back when he had seen Benji clearly. But for the past few years, he had wanted Benji to be ok so much, so fervently, that perhaps he had had fooled himself. He had seen the Benji everyone saw – happy and joking and carefree, and told himself Benji wouldn’t hide anything from him. He had never hidden anything from Benji.

Except perhaps he had. That soul-deep need for Benji, that he’d felt since long before Lane had parted them. He’d never let that slip. Did Benji even know how much he mattered to Ethan? To all of them?

‘Find him, please, Luther,’ Ethan said softly, and his oldest friend recognised the pleading when he heard it.

He called Erika Sloane.

‘I released Mr Dunn from my employ days ago,’ she said to him. ‘And he hasn’t kept me apprised of his whereabouts and is under no obligation to do so.’

‘He’s – I’m worried he may be in danger. One of the remnants of the Syndicate perhaps...’

‘I could try to track him down,’ she said. ‘But he’s not an employee or an asset or a target. It would be a gross invasion of his privacy and quite frankly, knowing his skills, I’d rather keep on the right side of him.’

‘I would owe you, Erika,’ Ethan said, ‘Any favour, anything.’

Erika Sloane recognised desperation when she heard it. Perhaps she even understood it.

‘I suspect, Mr Hunt – Ethan – that in years to come we will own each other a large number of favours. We may as well start with this one. I’ll see what I can do.’

He called Brandt.

‘What do you mean, you’ve lost Benji?’ he demanded, as soon as Ethan spoke.

‘I haven’t – I haven’t lost him,’ Ethan replied. There was a sudden swooping feeling inside at the idea of losing Benji. ‘I just – I need to find him and I can’t right now.’

‘He always finds you,’ Brandt said. In the background someone was calling him into a meeting and he turned to tell them to wait. ‘That’s how it works. You go missing, Benji finds you and covers for you.’

‘This time he isn’t doing that,’ Ethan admitted. ‘I don’t – please, Will, I don’t know where is.’

Brandt knew that tone. He’d heard it once before, in London. He remembered Ethan’s face then, pleading, not for himself, but Benji.

‘If I direct IMF resources to find him, it'll put him on all kinds of lists you don’t want him on,’ Brandt warned.

‘I know – but…’

‘I’ll see what I can do. Oh – and Ethan – you are a fucking idiot and if anything has happened to Benji I will personally track you down and hurt you.’

‘If anything has happened to Benji I’d want you to,’ Ethan said. ‘Thanks, Will.’

He called Ilsa, hiding out in Switzerland.

‘No, I haven’t seen Benji at all,’ Ilsa said. ‘What do you mean, he’s missing? He’d never leave you.’

‘I know. I know that. I think I know that…’

‘Did you ever tell him you know that?’

Ethan was silent. The hours were passing. Still no word. The warehouse echoed with Benji’s absence. What would he do if this were permanent? If that brief glimpse of Benji by his bed was the last he saw of him?

No. No. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

‘Ilsa,’ Ethan said softly. ‘What happened with Lane?’

‘Benji saved my life at considerable risk to his own,’ she told him. ‘I can’t tell you more. And that’s not the only time he’s saved me. After London, he was the one who – he helped me. I expected you to reach out, you know?’

‘I didn’t want to put you in danger.’

‘Really? Is that the reason, Ethan? Or is that just the ordinary every day lie you tell yourself to stop anyone from getting too close to you?’

Ethan took a sharp breath. Ilsa had that skilled undercover agent’s gift of reading people, and she had hit very close to the mark.

‘It’s not the worse lie I’ve heard, Ethan,’ she said, gently. ‘In a way, it’s remarkably touching. But Benji – he did reach out, soon after I left. I have to say I was surprised. In his place – if I were him – I think I would have avoided me. But he sent me information and equipment and – and – things were bad, afterwards. I felt very alone. But he was out there, caring about me. I’m not – I’m not used to that. I’m not ashamed to admit that sometimes the thought of that – of Benji helping me – was enough to keep me alive.’

‘Yeah, that sounds like him,’ Ethan said. ‘I know exactly what you mean. So I have to find him now, do you understand? No matter what.’

She took a breath.

‘I can’t tell you what happened – I made a promise, and I am trying very hard to keep my promises these days. But I’ll reach out to my contacts in Washington.’

‘Thanks, Ilsa.’

He called Julia. He didn’t know why, or how she could help, but he’d run out of people to call. And he still remembered fondly how often, after Shanghai, he had found Julia and Benji together at his desk, laughing, Benji keeping Julia amused while she waited for Ethan. They’d been genuine friends, he knew. She’d insisted on telling Benji goodbye before they left for Croatia and asked Ethan not to tell Benji she’d died.

Which meant as far as Benji knew, back then, before Russia, both Ethan and Julia had disappeared from his life without warning. That was cruel, Ethan knew. But he hadn’t known Benji really, then, hadn’t known how much he cared, how deeply he felt things.

The fact that even after all that, Benji still trusted him so completely left him awestruck. And yet Benji was out there, alone, god knows why, and Ethan couldn’t find him, couldn’t find his closest friend, his – his – love.

Now he could admit it. His cracked and broken soul, patched with gold where Benji had mended him, needed Benji. Loved Benji, an all-consuming love that both warmed and terrified Ethan.

He’d burn the world for Benji. He knew that now. Sitting in an empty warehouse, not knowing where to turn or what to do, getting more desperate by the minute, needing to find Benji, he could admit it himself.

Julia had let him go.

He could love Benji now.

And yet now was the exact moment he had lost Benji.

He’d wanted to confide his worry to Julia. What she said only made him worry more.

‘What do you mean, Benji is missing?’ she said sharply. ‘You need to find him now, I mean right now, Ethan.’

‘We’re trying, Julia…’

‘Try harder! I can’t break medical confidentiality, but I can tell you his life is at stake, so you find him right now, Ethan Hunt, and when you do, don’t let him out of your sight, do you get that?’

‘I – life – I don’t understand.’

‘Ethan. You are the sweetest, kindest man I’ve ever met, but so is Benji and he has been taking care of you all this time – it’s his nature, he needs someone to take care of. But now you have to look after him, so you find him.’

‘I’ve been trying to look after him,’ Ethan said, running out of the warehouse to his car. ‘But I got it wrong – I failed…’

‘So you try again and again and again. Benji needs you, just as much as you need him, and you find him right now.’

‘He’s gone off grid – I’ve got everyone looking, but Julia..’

He got in his car.

‘How do you think Benji finds you, every time? It’s one of the things you told me, do you remember? While you were on all that painkillers. Benji always finds you.’

‘He’s got a lot of skills…’

‘Instinct. It’s like a compass needle finding North. You are his true North. And he is yours. Follow your instinct, Ethan. And call me as soon as you find him.’

Julia ended the call. Ethan sat in his car, desperate to move, but not sure where to go or what to do. He’d run out of options, and he had to find Benji, he had to. It was a burning need, as necessary as breathing. Find Benji, fix whatever had gone wrong. Now, right now, before it was too late. Oh please god, not too late. He was Ethan Hunt, he was never too late and yet he had been before and he would again and he would lose someone he cared about. Not this time, please, not Benji.

Luther called, and Ethan answered. For a moment he felt cold. What if it was a body? What if that was Luther was calling to tell him he’d found Benji dead? It would only be Luther who would do that – the rest would know that it would have to be Luther. Ethan braced himself as he waited for Luther to tell him.

‘All I can tell you right now is he’s in Washington,’ Luther said. ‘We’re trying to narrow it down but – he’s good at this, Ethan.’

‘Thank you,’ Ethan said, and ended the call.

Washington. So the same city, at least.

What would he do, where would he hide? Benji didn’t tend to hide in darkened cellars and dirty rooms like Ethan did. Benji always hid in plain sight, like the six months in the CIA, to all intents and purposes undercover, and he’d hadn’t been outed until Ethan had dragged him back into the field. It was an incredible skill, and one Ethan really admired. He couldn’t have done it, not for that long.

But where would Benji hide if he was hurting, and scared and wanted not to be found? When he needed to be alone? When he needed to be away from everyone, to lick his wounds (what wounds?) and heal (heal from what? What had Julia meant?) and not be a bother to anyone?

Oh.

What would Benji do if he needed to do what Ethan did at the end of every mission…Ethan glanced up at the warehouse and then called Luther.

‘Any abandoned warehouses in the local area that show an increase in electrical activity,’ Ethan said, without any preamble, still talking as he started the car. ‘Start with warehouses I’ve used. Benji will have a list.’

‘Got it.’

‘And Luther – get medical help ready.’

‘Already done.’

Ethan was already breaking the speed limit as he ended the call. He was going to personally check every industrial estate, warehouse and abandoned building where he had hidden, and Benji had sent him gifts.

Luther had pinged Benji’s phone in a certain area. Erika had sent a surveillance video of Benji in a pharmacy – he had hidden his face, but his arms were full of packages and when he dropped one, the camera caught his face. Brandt had managed to find requisition slips for supplies to be delivered to at least five different addresses.

That was enough. Ethan knew where Benji was hidden. It was a huge concrete shed behind an abandoned factory. Benji had actually visited him there once, arms full of Chinese food and warm clothes, and sat there until Ethan had eaten all the food.

‘You don’t need to do this, Ethan,’ he had sighed, looking around at the warehouse.

‘I do,’ Ethan replied. ‘I know you don’t understand – I’m not sure I do – but this is what I have to do.’

‘Ok. Ok, well, I won’t stop asking you to come out of the shadows every once in a while. It’s warmer in the sunlight, and you know how you hate the cold.’

Now it was Benji in the shadows.

Chapter Text

Ethan parked up badly and ran into the cavernous warehouse. It was bitterly cold and very dark, and the air seemed heavy with disuse. Ethan left the door open and shone his phone light around, walking through the building. His footsteps were silent but he could see in the dust other footprints, someone stumbling, dragging something – a box of some sort. Ethan followed them. He hated the thought of Benji hiding in the dark here, of him lying on a sheet, shivering in the cold, not a scrap of comfort after all the hard work he had put into the mission. All it had cost him.

And for a moment Ethan stood stock still as he finally understood just what Benji had gone through, watching Ethan hide himself away in all those warehouses after a mission. He pinched his nose, trying to hold back the sudden tears.

‘I’m sorry, Benji,’ he murmured. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He walked on and there – in the back – on a camp bed, was a dark mound.

Ethan rushed forward and pulled the blankets away.

Benji. His eyes closed, his skin pale white and cold to the touch, unmoving.

‘Benji!’ Ethan cried, pulling him up into his arms, trying to get some warmth into him. ‘Benji, wake up!’

He didn’t stir, and Ethan reached for his neck, searching for a pulse. His hands shook so much he couldn’t find the right place, and for a moment he was overwhelmed with terror – Benji was dead, dead and gone and Ethan had lost him and it was all his fault. He had to push Benji’s collar aside, trying to find the right place, and that was when he saw it.

The bruise on Benji’s neck.

It all fell into place.

The scene he had seen in Lane’s cabin.

The secret Ilsa refused to tell him.

The shamefaced way Benji had avoided him since he came back.

Julia’s worry over Benji.

‘Oh, Benji,’ he said softly. ‘Oh, darling. It’ll be ok now, I’ve got you, it’ll be ok.’

And under his fingers, Ethan felt Benji’s pulse, thin and thready, but there.

‘It’s ok, I’ve got you,’ he said softly, and quickly called Luther for help. Then he put the phone down and turned back to Benji, pulling him up to his arms. Benji was cold, so cold, and his breath rasped in his throat.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ethan murmured, grasping him as tight as he could, trying to pass some of his warmth into Benji. It felt wrong, that Benji should be so cold, so still. He pulled him closer, head against his chest.

‘Ethan?’ Benji whispered softly.

‘Oh thank god,’ Ethan said, looking down at Benji’s face. His eyes were fluttering open. ‘Just stay awake, ok? Help is coming, it’s coming.’

Benji snuggled into him, into his warmth and comfort, and Ethan felt his heart wrench.

‘What are you doing here, Benji?’ he said, shifting position so he could hold him closer. Benji was shivering and seemed to have trouble breathing.

‘Just till I got better,’ Benji said, in a very low voice. ‘You do it.’

‘But you – I’m not a good example, darling,’ Ethan said. ‘I can see – look – the bruise – why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Didn’t want to bother you,’ he whispered again. ‘You worry – didn’t want to give you more worry…more guilt...’

Ethan held him even tighter. He had nothing to give but his endless apologies. What had he done? How had he never managed to tell Benji that he would look after Benji as well as Benji looked after him? That he would be there, and care for him, and – and – why had he never said it?

Because he had never thought. He had believed Benji’s act like everyone else – he had seen the hurt and the pain but never realised how deep the cracks ran.

‘I wouldn’t have minded,’ Ethan said. ‘All I care about is that you are ok – you didn’t have to hide from me.’

‘Thought I was just tired – just needed a little bit of rest – didn’t want anyone to worry about me – thought it’d be ok – but it got worse…’

‘Why didn’t you call me? Call anyone?’

Benni didn’t answer, but glanced down at the phone by the bed. Ethan looked at it. It was plugged into a socket – but there was no charging symbol, and the phone was dead. There was no electricity in this warehouse anymore. By the time Benji couldn’t move, the phone was out of charge. All Benji could do was lie here, in the dark, no way to call for help, not able to move, knowing no-one knew where he was. He would never have known how much he was loved as he died here.

Oh god. Oh god, it had been close, too close. If he’d found Benji even a day later – convulsively he shuddered, and grasped Benji closer.

Ethan had a sudden thought, and it chilled him even more.

‘Benji – how many times have you done this? More than once?’ Benji nodded against Ethan’s chest. ‘After London – you made sure we were all ok – then I didn’t hear from you for a while. Then?’

Benji nodded again.

‘Didn’t want to be me,’ he croaked. ‘Wanted to be like you.’

Ethan kissed his hair,  and made sure Benji didn’t see the way he clenched his fists so hard the nails bit into his palm. Is this what he had left Benji with? A need to be as he saw Ethan? Did he not see how Ethan longed to be like Benji?

‘Shush now,’ Ethan said, cradling Benji. He could see his eyes start to close. Still he wasn’t warm, and his pulse seemed barely there, nothing more than a whisper of life.

Ethan held him close, trying to warm him, reassure him, make him understand he was needed and wanted and loved, so much. He had to stay alive. But Benji was barely breathing, and every breath felt like a struggle. He had to live. He would live, wouldn’t he? He had to. And then – then Ethan didn’t know what he could do or say to make Benji understand but he’d find the words somehow. He had to. He clutched him closer as Benji’s breaths became more and more harsh, and called for help, anyone, shouting that they were here, come quick, come now.

The doorway darkened. The paramedics rushed in. And Ethan felt Benji take one last shuddering breath and then – silence.

Ethan sat in the hospital waiting room. This was where Benji always sat, waiting for him. Hospital rooms and doctors offices and emergency waiting rooms, all these years, Benji sitting there, waiting, questioning the doctors, learning more and more about emergency medicine so he could keep Ethan alive long enough to get help, could talk to the doctors about what was needed. Ethan wasn’t sure how Benji could have borne this. It was killing him, to wait while Benji was in there.

They had got an oxygen mask on him right away and scooped him up into the ambulance. Ethan had insisted on sitting in the back with him, holding his hand. They had asked him all sorts of medical questions – what had happened, when, what was his medical history. Every time Ethan had to say ‘I don’t know,’ and something inside twisted painfully every time he had to say it. Benji never had to say that when asked about Ethan. Eventually he gave them Julia’s number, and she was able to tell them what had happened. (Ethan completely missed the horrified looks the paramedics gave each other behind his back).

Now he sat in the waiting room, calling everyone. Telling them what had happened, how Benji had hid, trying to be like him, trying not to burden anyone with his pain.

They listened and were relieved Benji was alive and in hospital. Some shouted at Ethan, blaming him for Benji’s behaviour. Some commiserated, feeling Ethan’s pain. Luther started to put into place plans for Benji’s recovery.

‘Don’t blame yourself,’ he said to Ethan.

‘Who else should I blame?’

‘Lane. Look – you and Benji – you – you’re alike, under the skin. That’s why I love you both. All broken and cracked and determined not to let anyone else see it. You drive me mad. It’ll all be ready for you both, brother, when it’s time.’

‘What do I do? How do I fix this?’ Ethan asked.

‘Fucked if I know,’ Luther replied. ‘All I know how to do is pick up the pieces.’

In the end, they let Ethan sit with Benji in the room. The curtains were open, bright sunshine flooding the room, falling across Benji’s wan face.

‘Pneumonia,’ they said. ‘What is it with you IMF agents, you can never just take a break,’

Ethan just nodded and sat by Benji’s bed. He took Benji’s hand in his and studied him as he slept.

He loved Benji more than his own life. More than he had since – since Julia. More than he had expected to feel. And yet – all he had done was bask in Benji’s affection for him.

Affection. Love. He had to admit it to himself. Benji loved him too. It was obvious to the entire world. And Ethan – Ethan had used that love, relied on it, felt the warmth of it on him. His broken places healed with the gold of Benji’s love.

And what had Ethan had given back?

It wasn’t enough to just love Benji. He had to give himself to Benji. It wasn’t enough to promise that nothing was going to happen to Benji. The bad things happened anyway. He had to help Benji heal. He had to give him his strength and courage and hope. Benji had been giving and giving and Ethan had tried to give in return and failed every time. He had to do better. It wasn’t enough to love. He had to give that love.

Golden cracks on a shattered china shepherdess.

Benji stirred and opened his eyes.

‘I am so angry with you. Don’t even think about talking. Not this time.’ Ethan said quickly, in his softest voice. He didn’t let go of Benji’s hand. Benji looked up at him, steadily.  Ethan watched him, and saw it now. Saw the darkness in Benji, the spiderwebs of cracks barely holding his soul together. He needed Benji not just to live. He needed Benji to know he was loved, how much he was necessary – not just to Ethan. Ethan was his team leader, his friend, the man who loved him. He should have been doing this all along.

He collected people, but he didn’t mend them. He’d passed that role onto Benji. Now he had to learn to do that.

‘I talked to the others when I was looking for you. They told me everything you’d done for them, all the ways you helped them. Things far, far beyond your job.’

‘Our team,’ Benji croaked.

‘Shush, I said not to talk,’ Ethan, pulling the blanket up to cover Benji more. ‘More than our team. Ilsa, right after London, when you had no reason to trust her. Julia, first via Luther and now – Brandt and Jane and people in tech and people we met once and – you’ve helped so many people, Benji, and they love you for it.’

‘Useful…’

‘You’re more than useful. You – bind us all together, not just the team, but everyone even tangentially connected to us. You are at the heart of the network I created. I see that now. I see what you did for them. For me.’

Was that enough? Perhaps not. But it was a start. It was a feeling finally put into words. Benji lay back, staring up at the ceiling.

‘You don’t think you deserve the same in return?’ Ethan asked, very gently. He knew that feeling exactly.

Benji didn’t say anything, but his eyes filled with tears.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Ethan said, feeling his own voice crack with tears. ‘I will be here when you wake up.’

Benji turned to him, and his eyes asked the question, his wonderfully expressive eyes,

‘I won’t go unless you send me away. And maybe not even then,’ Ethan said. ‘Go to sleep. Heal.’

Benji nodded and let his eyes close.

Ethan slept there, curled up on the chair (he’d slept in worse places, he knew. He could sleep anywhere. And now that he thought about it, now that he was ruthlessly examining his every action in light of new information, he knew he slept best when Benji was in sight.) And when dawn came – for once golden and glowing – he watched it creep across Benji’s face, saw the colour had come back, saw life returning, and he breathed a little easier. He sat back, and thought about his mother, and the little broken figurines on the shelf, waiting to be taken down and given a story.

‘Hello,’ he said, as Benji woke. ‘Do you want me to call the doctors?’

Benji looked up at him, as if making sure he wasn’t dreaming. Then he shook his head and looked over at the water. Ethan helped him sit up, then poured him a glass. Benji drank it all down, and then the second glass, and then sipped the third. Then he studied Ethan.

‘I thought I had dreamt you finding me,’ he admitted, his voice still hoarse, but better. ‘I’m sorry you had to do that, it was a stupid mistake to make.’

‘I’ve made worse,’ Ethan said lightly. ‘At least yours didn’t end up with hanging off a building or jumping out of a helicopter.’

Benji smiled but the smile faded quickly.

‘I didn’t – I didn’t want you to have to rescue me…’ he coughed, and Ethan grasped his hand, holding on tight as Benji got through the moment.

‘What else could I do? Did you think, Benji, I wouldn’t be there if you needed me?’

Surely, surely after everything, Benji knew that? If not anything else, Benji must know that. Benji looked at him, still not smiling, still worried.

‘I have never doubted, not once, Ethan, that you would come for me, if I asked. I just – I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t - I didn’t want to be yet another person asking you to rescue them. I didn’t want to be the damsel in distress. I wanted to be – I want to be – the one by your side, helping you to be the hero, not the one you have to sacrifice for.’

Ethan let his thumb gently rub the back of Benji’s hand.

‘You saved my life, have I ever told you that?’ Ethan said quietly. ‘Every note, every blanket, every word of care saved me. You have no idea how close I came to – how often I – I nearly died, and I wanted to. I really wanted to. But you – you were never the damsel in distress, Benji. You never needed rescuing. I did. And you saved me.’

Benji watched him steadily, watched Ethan beside his bed, trying to say the words.

‘Why?’ Ethan asked. ‘Why do all that for me? I don’t deserve it…’

‘You don’t get to decide that!’ Benji cried, his voice cracking. ‘I decide who deserves me, and I choose you. I always have! I always choose you because you are good and kind and you give and you give and you deserve everything I can…’ Benji’s voice broke and he started to cough. Ethan helped him drink the water, holding his back as he coughed.

‘Shush now,’ Ethan said. ‘You shouldn’t be talking. I know normally you do all the talking and I do all the listening, and I like it that way, but not this time, ok. Be quiet, Benji.’

He reached out, his fingertips ghosting over the bruise on Benji’s neck, so softly Benji only felt a whisper of his touch. ‘Shush now.’

Ethan pulled Benji’s blanket straight, with the abstracted yet devoted air of a priest straightening an altar cloth.

‘You chose me,’ Ethan said, his voice barely more than a whisper. He reached out to Benji’s hand and clasped it. ‘Over and over, despite it all. I think – I think I would call that love.’ Benji’s hand tightened in shock over Ethan’s. Ethan looked up to see Benji watching him, intently, bravely, but still silent. Ethan didn’t let go of his hand. He looked down, the same look he had on his face when he was working out a particularly complicated plan.

‘I chose you,’ Ethan said, still looking down at the blanket. ‘Every time. From the first time I saw you in the tech lab. In the field, every mission, I chose you. Did you know that?’

He looked up, with a soft, questioning smile. Benji only looked back. Of course he knew that. Benji Dunn, curious and clever, playing around in the IMF files for fun on a lazy day, discovering all kinds of secrets. Ethan looked down again, unable to bear to look at Benji right now. Let him get it all out now, get it all into the open.

‘I chose you in Vienna, when I should have left you in peace. I chose you in London, I chose you over the Prime Minister and funding a terrorist. I chose you afterwards, when I ought to have let you go. I choose you over and over and over, because I can’t bear to let you go.’ Now he looked up. ‘I think if it came to a choice between saving the world and saving you, I’d choose you, Benji.’

Ethan raised Benji’s hand up and kissed his palm, his eyes closed.

‘I know that is love,’ he said, watching Benji. ‘I love you. I love you so much that I – I love you. And – and I will try to make all this right again. Properly, this time. Let me. Let me stay with you. Let me – let me make it better.’

Benji watched him steadily. Then he leaned forward and pulled Ethan in, close to him. But, briefly afraid, he hesitated. It was Ethan who leaned in closer, kissed Benji, gentle, but one hand clasped in Benji’s hospital gown so tight it tore. Something bright, burning bright, passed between them, warm and safe and home, and when Ethan pulled back, he stared at Benji, eyes wide in surprise. Benji looked back at him, with the same look. He reached up and touched Ethan’s cheek.

‘Ethan,’ he whispered. Ethan reached up, mirroring him, touching his cheek.

‘Mine,’ Ethan whispered back. He sat back down, wanting more, but afraid of hurting Benji. Benji’s hand slipped down to hold his.

‘I’m broken,’ Benji said, very quietly, in his still torn voice. ‘It’s not your fault – I think I always was, inside. Lane made it worse but – I think the cracks were always there.’

‘I know. I always knew that, ’ Ethan said. ‘Me too. Let me tell you about the china figurines my mother collected.’

The cracks are still there. They are broken, they are damaged, they were smashed into pieces. But now they are whole again, their scars shining in gold.