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Taking a bullet is easy. Even as it pierces through your skin and sends a raging fire of pain tearing through your body, it's superficial. This is what you signed up for. This is why you join the IMF. To take bullets. To put your life on the line. To be expendable for the sole purpose of bettering the lives of others.
Watching the ones you care about suffer, however, is the hardest damn thing in the world. And for Ethan Hunt, seeing Benji Dunn straining to keep himself from sobbing as he recited the words of a blood-thirsty madman with a bomb strapped to his chest was something even his nightmares wouldn't have conjured up.
It hurt him more than anything you could possibly imagine. Sitting there, listening to Benji's voice quiver and crack with fear as the counter steadily ticked away with each passing second. He prayed, oh did he pray. Prayed that he could save him, that by some miracle he could pull this off. What he would have given to bargain with Lane. He would have taken a hundred bullets, allowed himself to be beaten and maimed and thrown off a goddamn skyscraper to keep Benji safe.
But praying was never enough. Not in a world where people like Solomon Lane and the Syndicate existed. So he had to act. He had to be more than a man filled with fear. He had to be an agent. He had to be smarter than a criminal genius. He had to be Ethan Hunt.
With Benji forced to give every response Lane had for him, Ethan made his threat. Kill Benji, lose the ledger. With the information completely wiped from the disk and the risk of losing his one opportunity at building the Syndicate into an unstoppable force of terror, Lane had no choice but to set Benji free.
Ethan's eyes widened slightly as the red numbers on Benji's chest ceased the countdown with mere seconds remaining. If Lane hadn't believed his threat, well, there would be no Benji Dunn, no Ethan Hunt, and no witnesses left standing to retell what happened. But Lane had given in. He was letting Benji go and insuring that he and Ethan would come face to face for their final battle.
With tears still threatening to fall from his eyes and his breathing frightfully heavy, Benji's shaky hands fumbled with the earpiece and straps holding the bomb to his chest. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, the default fight-or-flight response mechanism in his brain desperately trying to determine what his numb body should do. Does he drop the bomb and run? Or does he do whatever he can to help the man that had just allowed him to hang onto the life he treasured?
"Ethan..."
As much as Ethan wanted to get up and embrace Benji, as much as he wanted to reassure him that he was alive and that he would be okay, he couldn't. There was no time.
"Benji, go," he uttered. "Go."
Benji's puffy eyes were filled with worry and conflict. He knew very well that he needed to go. He needed to get back to Luther and Brandt in order to set the trap that they hoped Ethan would be able to lure him to. But God was he terrified. He was leaving Ethan to finish the job alone. To fight without his help. He hated that. But he too couldn't have what he wanted.
Clenching his jaw and mustering up every last ounce of will power, Benji turned and ran. He didn't dare look back. Even as shots rang out and blood-curdling screams filled the night sky, he kept on running.
Every step Ethan took was agony. He had fought off a handful of Lane's henchmen and thrown himself through a window not only once but twice. Clutching his arm, he limped down the darkened London alleys until he heard the screeching of tires and found his shadow brought to clarity by the headlights of a car directly behind him. He turned just in time to see Lane slide out from the black SUV.
This was it. The final chase. Either he was going to bring Lane down or die trying.
Picking up his pace, Ethan stumbled around the corner and felt a bullet whiz by his head, crashing into the glass behind him. Third time's the charm, he thought as he threw himself through the shattered window. He crawled momentarily along the shard-covered floor before he saw Lane closing in. Gathering the remainder of his stamina, he staggered to his feet and bolted toward the opening in the floor across the room that was marked with bright orange traffic cones. With a few feet between himself and the opening, he tucked his right leg beneath himself and slid right into the awaiting gap, narrowly avoiding another one of Lane's bullets.
He laid there for a moment, inhaling deeply as his entire body screamed in discomfort. Cuts and bruises would remain on his skin for days after tonight. But, if this last stretch of the plan didn't go as he hoped, he could very well have a far more fatal wound.
He turned his head slightly to look up at Lane, the man's shadowy figure looming overhead on the floor above. Ethan could see the darkness in Lane's eyes. Impatience and malicious rage clouded the iridescent colors of his irises. Lane wanted to kill him. Wanted to prove to Ethan Hunt that the Syndicate would forever outmatch the IMF. But the second Lane leapt down through the open floor, he did the exact opposite.
"You've got what you wanted, Mr. Hunt," Lane said, "Just the two of us face to face."
Ethan felt a small smirk pull at his lips. Oh, I've got you right where I want you.
Lane took a step toward the exhausted agent laying a mere foot and a half from him only to find himself impeded by a thick wall of bullet-proof glass. Lane's eyes bulged in a venomous combination of bewilderment and wrath.
Ethan slowly stood up, keeping an alleviating pressure on his aching arm. From the shadows, figures began to emerge, taking their places on each side of the transparent corral. Luther. Brandt. Benji. Ilsa. Each of their faces stern and full of resolve.
"Gentlemen," Ethan announced, "This is Solomon Lane. Mr. Lane..." He paused and let his gaze wander over to Benji before returning to the trapped man before him. "Say hello to the IMF."
Even as Lane trembled with rage and shot at the glass directly between his eyes, Ethan remained absolutely still. This was a victory. This was revenge. He had finally captured the monster that had taken countless innocent lives and threatened to do the same to the one person Ethan cared most about in this world. In his eyes, Lane didn't deserve to live. But knowing the man would pay for his actions as the public saw fit would be enough to let him sleep at night.
Ethan watched as gas clouded the glass cage, basking in the feeling of triumph as Lane slowly faded away. As soon as the man had completely disappeared, Ethan clenched his jaw and threw his arms forward, knocking the enclosure on its side.
He stood over the obscured trap for a few moments more as everything sank in. The Syndicate was crumbling. Lane was captured. Benji was safe. And...
Benji.
Ethan's eyes quickly scanned the now-brightened garage until he found Benji standing by the gas nozzle. Even from several feet away, Ethan could see every emotion in Benji's eyes. Relief. Pain. Confusion. Gratitude. He was beginning to grasp the fact that he was alive, that he had survived being taken hostage, that he would never have to worry about becoming the victim of Solomon Lane ever again. It hurt Ethan to see him like that. Not just because Benji was struggling to conquer the mixture of emotions but because he was the reason Benji had almost died. Because he had failed to protect him.
As the rest of the team began preparing the truck for Lane's transport, Ethan swallowed and made his way over to the younger agent. "Benji," he murmured, voice full of concern, "Are you alright?"
Benji's eyes widened slightly as he lifted his head to look at him, making it all too easy for Ethan to see that his eyes were red and laced with tears. "Wha- Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Benji responded, giving his counterpart a forced smile.
Ethan felt the ache in his chest grow more painful with each second he gazed down at him. Benji wasn't fine. Far from it. He was fighting an internal battle with his emotions, a battle most people would hide away from others to fight. But he couldn't just duck under the shade of a secluded hallway to purge his emotions. He wouldn't let himself. He was doing his best to push everything to the back of his mind so he could do his job. And Ethan was in anguish because of it.
"Benji, I'm sorry," he murmured barely above a whisper, "What happened to you... It's my fault. I never should have let you come with me. I should have tried harder to make you go back to your job where you would have been safe. But I... I failed you, Benji. I'm so sorry."
He could see Benji's brow furrow and his eyes rapidly scanning Ethan's face to try and help him understand what was happening. "Ethan... None of that was your fault. There was no way I was going back to sitting in an office while you run around trying to save the world by yourself," he responded, still so vexed by the tone of Ethan's voice and the sudden apology.
"You don't understand, Benji, if he had..." He stopped, swallowing hard as his next words formed in his mind and painted a hellish picture. "If he had killed you, your blood would have been on my hands. I failed to protect you."
The crease between Benji's brows deepened. "What are you talking about? I'm not your responsibility!" He clenched his fists as he fought to stay the tears in his eyes. "I didn't just join your mission to take a journey and see the sights! I knew exactly what I was getting into! I did this because I wanted to help you! Because I can't let you risk your life without me doing the same! I'm your friend, Ethan! Friends don't let each other fight their battles alone! And you know what? I would willingly die to make sure you finished this mission."
What happened next even Ethan didn't expect. Some sort primal instinct overtook him and his hands where tightly grasping Benji's shirt. "Don't say that. Don't you dare say that," he said, his voice low and desperate.
"E-Ethan..." Benji stammered in surprise and confusion.
"You can't be willing to die for me! I can't lose you, Benji! I just..." His grip on Benji's shirt loosened as his voice lowered to broken whisper. "I can't. I need you."
The lines on Benji's brow nearly vanished as Ethan's words sank in, his puffy eyes widening. He could hardly believe his ears. The mind-blowingly skilled, devilishly handsome, eternally in-control Ethan Hunt had just admitted that he needed him. That wasn't something he could ever take for granted.
Without a word of warning or a moment of second-guessing, Benji's hands clasped onto the sides of Ethan's neck, pulling him down just enough for the technician to lean forward and capture his lips in a desperate kiss. As much as the sudden kiss took him by surprise, Ethan couldn't possibly just stand there and let this moment pass him by. His hands instinctively found their way to Benji's hip, forcing their bodies closer. The kiss was more than just an action. It was confirmation. It was hunger. It was comfort. It was need. A "thank you", an "I love you", and a "finally".
It wasn't until the sound of Luther awkwardly clearing his throat echoed through the parking garage that the two separated.
"As beautiful as this moment is, we've got to go," Brandt called from beside the passenger door of the police truck.
Even as Benji's cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, Ethan kept his hands on the younger man's waist and grinned softly. "I'm glad you did that," he murmured, "I was beginning to wonder if I had said something wrong."
"I'm just glad that didn't lead to a fist kissing my lips instead."
Ethan chuckled, a sound that warmed every inch of Benji's skin. "Trust me, Benji. That's the last thing on Earth I could have possibly considered when it comes to responding to having you kiss me."
"Oh yeah? What's the first?"
A mischievous smirk yanked at the corners of Ethan's mouth. "Now that's a conversation best left for when our colleagues aren't eavesdropping." He could faintly hear Brandt mumble, "I don't even want to know" from across the garage before climbing in the truck. "Besides," he continued, "We better get going."
Benji gave him a small smile, trying to hide just how disappointed he was in having to end this moment with Ethan. "Yeah..." However, just as he made a move to shimmy himself out of Ethan's grip, the older agent leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips.
"Don't worry," Ethan whispered, "There'll be plenty of time for you to make out with me later tonight."
"Oh." Benji's neck immediately went hot and his tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips. "W-well good." He straightened up as much as humanly possible, attempting to mask his sudden coyness. "I think I deserve it."
Ethan shook his head, baring his beautiful pearl-white teeth as he laughed. "Just go get in the truck." He watched with amusement and adoration as Benji crossed the garage, blushing as he climbed in the truck beside Brandt. Even though he hadn't said it directly to him, he knew that Benji understood exactly what he meant when he had said he needed him.
I love you.