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This is the story of Julia Meade’s life: she’s born, she lives, she meets a man, she falls in love, she gets married, she gets divorced, and she dies. The end.
Only, of course, it’s not.
Julia’s life starts before she meets Ethan. It continues after she leaves him. They fall in love, get married, get divorced. She starts again. A new life. The beginning.
Ilsa Faust doesn’t get the privilege of a life. Ilsa gives it up for the MI6, for the greater good, back when she still believes in something like that, and before the year is out she knows she’ll never get it back.
One day in Ilsa’s not-life, a file gets thrown in front of her. She opens it to find a job, a task, instructions, and the expectation to obey them.
Ilsa Faust doesn’t get the privilege of a life. But Eris Oster - thirty years old, radiologist, and most certainly not deep undercover for the MI6 - does.
Far from danger, far from Ethan, Julia spends her days in a well-regarded hospital doing what she does best. Doing her job, as challenging and painful and exhausting as it might be. She loves it. She embraces it. She never wants to do anything else, and that's why she understood, why she’ll always understand, and why she let Ethan go.
She goes down to Radiology one afternoon to pick up some documents, nothing out of the ordinary, but for the new face on the floor. A pretty one, smiling at her in greeting, soft voice saying hello, and an introduction. “Hi. I’m Eris.”
This is the story of Ilsa Faust’s life: the job, the job, the job, and then, Julia.
The beginning.
Julia’s not looking for a replacement for Ethan. She makes that clear to herself and doesn’t entertain the merest thought of more with the beautiful woman in Radiology until she knows for sure she can do this right. And she does - it’s Eris she sees, always, always; beautiful, charming, making Julia laugh with such ease. It’s uncanny, maybe, the glimpses of him she sees sometimes, in her sense of humour, her devotion to doing the right thing. But it’s different - oh, it’s different, except for the falling; as easy as breathing, again.
It’s easy for Ilsa. She’s good at keeping secrets, good at what she does, at the job, and she’s not Ethan, never has been. She wants to protect people, do the right thing, keep her country safe, but it’s a want, not a need. She doesn’t carry the weight of tragedy on her shoulders. Ilsa can live with failure, can live with deaths on her conscience - the one thing she can’t bear is not doing her best (well. The one thing, until Julia).
Make her real, MI6 says, like they always do, so Ilsa does. Eris is real, down to the tips of her toes, down to the finger onto which Julia slides a silver ring two years later. Eris is safe. Julia is safe throughout it all - the courtship, the proposal, the marriage. Julia smiles at her when they wake up in the morning, happy, and Ilsa lets Eris be happy too.
But.
There’s always a but with stories like theirs.
A month before MI6 tightens their nets and she’s given a call, Julia gets one of her own. She sits Ilsa down at the dining table and tells her she has to do this - has to go to Kashmir to help set up the medical camp for people in need. This is her calling, after all. Julia’s always believed she was put on this earth to help people, and at the moment, no one needs help more than the people suffering from a smallpox epidemic. Ilsa’s not needed, wouldn’t be allowed to say yes, anyway. She’s just here to smile and squeeze Julia’s hand and give her wife her blessing. She suspects nothing - what is there to suspect?
Julia goes. She promises to call, to come back, and she always keeps her promises. Ilsa kisses her goodbye, and settles down to wait. Almost - almost - forgetting what else she’s supposed to be waiting for.
Faust, is her order, and Eris Oster picks up a gun, puts on a helmet, and becomes Ilsa once more.
In the White Widow’s den, Ilsa shoots a man in the head to save Ethan’s life.
She gets back on her motorcycle after, throws herself into a breathless chase, trying to kill Solomon Lane to save her own - to keep her life as Eris Oster, to keep Julia by her side.
(But oh, we all know how that works out.)
Ilsa Faust is a good soldier. She always has been. MI6 gave her orders, gave her a life, and she lived it. She’s killed for them, time and time again. She’s watched people die and let it happen, because it meant more would live.
But now it's been five years. Five years pretending, lying, with every word that passes her lips. Five years watching Julia save lives, time and time again, even those Ilsa thought were past any help. The right thing - she’s fought for it, killed for it, so, so long. The greater good.
But there’s no greater good without the good, is there?
Ilsa Faust sits in a safe house with Ethan, Benji, and Luther, after. She listens to them talk. Listens to Ethan’s voice, the earnestness and determination in which it’s steeped, and thinks - maybe. Maybe Ethan’s right, what with his devotion to human life, to his refusal to consider civilians collateral damage. Every innocent life is precious, and he’d lay his own down without question to save one. Every single time.
Maybe she can do what’s right - what’s good, instead of what she’s been ordered to do, and still keep her life as Eris Oster. Thirty-five years old, radiologist, person. Julia Meade’s wife.
In the same safe house, Luther drops a bomb that shatters Ilsa’s world right after she’s decided how to keep it. He talks about Ethan, about one of the two women in his life for whom he’s truly cared, his ex-wife - her name was Julia, Luther says, and Ilsa’s heart stops in her chest.
It can’t be. It can’t possibly, because the coincidence can’t be that uncanny, because there’s no way the universe could play such a devastatingly terrible joke, it can’t -
But she pushes. Luther has a photograph, blurry and worn with age, and of course, of course, it is.
Ethan’s ex-wife. Ilsa knows the story by now - how she was abducted for no reason beyond her love for Ethan and his for her, a bargaining chip, a leverage point. The woman Ethan loved beyond reason - loves, she knows. Julia Meade was taken from everything she’d ever known and forced into a whole new life simply because she fell in love, and when she met Ilsa, she was dragged back into that world without even knowing it.
They’ve been married for almost three years now. Ilsa’s been lying to Julia for every second of those years, and it hits her, suddenly, how terrible that is, how cruel, how deeply selfish. Three years of lying - to Julia, and to herself; it’s the job, it’s just the job - it’s not. It never has been.
But she's kept her safe, a part of Ilsa screams, defensive to the last. And that’s true, isn’t it? Nobody knows Ilsa’s name the way they know Ethan’s. Three years, and nobody has put a gun to Julia’s head and told Ilsa to pick between her wife or the rest of the world.
But oh, Julia will always, always be Ethan Hunt’s ex-wife, will always have her name and her life irrevocably linked to his. It’s not fair. But then, what about their lives ever has been?
They figure it out - the bombs are in Kashmir, stowed in a medical camp by the Siachen glacier. Ilsa stares at the spot Benji points out on the map, remembers a conversation she had with Julia more than a month ago, about a call and a calling, and it all falls into place.
Lane and Lark lured Julia to Kashmir because of Ethan. Because of the way her path intersected his. Not Ilsa, no - but she thinks about how she kissed Julia goodbye at the airport that morning, told her to go, and Ilsa throws up by the side of the road. She doesn’t tell the boys why, and she doesn’t let them ask.
They reach the camp in decent time. Ilsa pushes them hard from the get-go, tells them to keep moving - they’re on a time limit, they have to find the bombs. And that’s true, but she also needs to make sure Julia doesn’t see her. She has to - she has to save Julia’s life without her knowing Ilsa was ever here. It echoes in her head, incessant, I can’t, I have to, I can’t, I have to, and she’s right behind Benji and Luther when she hears it.
“Ethan?”
A voice that can stop Benji and Luther in their tracks, even after all this time. Ilsa stops, too. What else can she do? What else, except turn around and see her wife in her HAO uniform, staring at Ethan Hunt, and Ethan staring back?
If she just doesn’t move, Ilsa thinks. If she just fades into the background like she always has when she’s MI6, mask on, and doesn’t draw attention to herself. She can still get out of this, she can still be a ghost, not here, never here -
But Julia’s not stupid. She knows Ethan isn’t here by chance, and if he’s not here by chance, then he’s here because the IMF gave him a choice and he accepted it, like he always does. She knows that Benji and Luther won’t be far behind, so she glances around to look.
Ilsa sees Julia’s eyes settle on her. She sees her go still. She can’t breathe.
Her whole world goes greyscale when Julia speaks.
“Eris?”
She doesn’t say it the way she said Ethan’s name. Ilsa doesn’t know if that’s better or worse.
She can’t move. She can’t think. She can’t do - anything. Not any more.
Benji, Luther and Ethan stare at Ilsa, and Julia’s looking at her like she doesn’t understand.
“Eris, what are you doing here?”
Julia’s not stupid.
She never has been.
Ethan, god bless him. The best agent on IMF's payroll, possibly the best spy and fighter alive, the man who’s saved the world more times than Ilsa can count, rendered completely baffled by one word from his ex-wife. He stares between them. “Who’s Eris?” He asks, genuinely bewildered, and Ilsa thinks, shut up, Ethan, just shut up, please, just - “Ilsa? Who's - Ilsa, what's going on?"
Ilsa’s been punched, stabbed, shot, waterboarded, tortured for two weeks in a fucking separatist camp, and still nothing has ever hurt as much as the way Julia’s face changes when it hits her. She wants so badly to look away, but she can't take her eyes off her.
Luther’s the first one to come back to his senses, going up to Julia, his tone calm and even. “I’m sorry, Julia. We don’t have time to explain. We have to go, or people are going to die.” Straight-shooter, as always. Julia nods mutely, but she doesn’t stop looking at Ilsa. Not for a second, and it’s the hardest thing Ilsa’s ever had to do - tear her gaze away, follow the boys and do her job, her duty, and keep innocent people safe.
She’s a good soldier. Ilsa’s a good soldier. Always has been.
The job, the job, the job.
Julia.
They find the first bomb; Luther gets to work right then and there. Ethan goes to do what he does best, taking off to hunt down Walker and the detonator. That leaves her and Benji to find the other bomb.
Benji falls into quickstep beside her while they move through the camp. The gaze he directs at her really should be less incisive than it is. And because he’s Benji, he’s the first to break the silence. “Ilsa?” He asks quietly - genuinely curious, confused, not pushing. “Who’s Eris?”
Ilsa shuts her eyes and tries to breathe. Every gasp of air freezes in her lungs, and she wishes she could blame that for the way the words seem to die in her throat.
“Ilsa, how do you know Julia?”
If she was thinking straight, if they weren’t looking for a plutonium bomb in the middle of a medical camp in Kashmir, Ilsa thinks she might snap at him that it’s none of his fucking business. She could still, and Benji would back off without hesitation. They’d find the bomb, get to work, and Ilsa could pretend that all that matters to her in the world is saving it.
But.
(Always, always, a but.)
Her heart’s splintering into pieces, hands desperately scrabbling for a future she’s losing, that’s falling apart before her eyes. Ilsa does something rare - she tells the truth. “She’s married to Eris Oster. The identity I was given by MI6 to go deep undercover as a sleeper agent.”
She doesn’t say we’re married, or, she’s married to me, because that’s not true, is it? Legally, Ilsa Faust is dead. Legally, Ilsa Faust doesn’t even exist.
Benji's shocked into total silence. Ilsa's glad, isn't surprised - she wouldn’t know what to say to that either.
In this world, it goes differently. In this world, Ilsa is the one to follow her Geiger counter into a room of radiology equipment. The second she steps inside she curses herself - led on a false trail, to a reminder of a false life. She has to get to Benji right now.
But when she turns to leave, Julia’s in the doorway. Julia’s there, and there's heartbreak written all over her face.
The clock is ticking, but Ilsa stops anyway.
“Who are you?” Julia asks, her voice breaking on the question. “Who are you - you’re not Eris Oster. You’re not my wife.”
Ilsa’s heart hurts. This is the wrong time, the wrong place. If they don’t find the second bomb, and Ethan doesn’t get his hands on the detonator, they’re all going to die in the next fifteen minutes. Benji’s alone, and what if, what if, what if -
But there are no what-ifs with Julia. Just the cold certainty that Ilsa’s already lost her, so she answers. “My name is Ilsa Faust. I’m an MI6 agent. I’ve worked for them for the past ten years.”
Julia’s expression is a steely mask, but Ilsa can still see the agony in her eyes. “You lied to me. These five years we’ve known each other, you’ve been lying to me the entire time.”
Ilsa doesn’t know what to say. It’s true. Everything Julia’s ever said to her has been true. She laughs, and it’s brittle, syllables thudding to the floor and shattering at Ilsa’s feet. “No wonder you reminded me of Ethan. Every so often, at the beginning - a glimpse of you in the corner of my eye, feeling like I was seeing him all over again. I thought it was just me and my baggage, but it wasn’t. You’re just like him. You always have been.”
That’s true, too, only nobody kidnapped Julia to bring Ilsa to them, to destroy her, but here they are in Kashmir anyway, so what’s the difference, really? If they don’t find the bomb, the last thing Ilsa is ever going to see is her wife dying in front of her, along with a third of the world’s population. It’s all the same, in the end.
Benji saves her from needing to respond, his voice crackling over the comms. He’s found the bomb in a wooden hut on the edge of the camp. Adrenaline and certainty in his words, cut off by a loud crash and a cry of pain. Ilsa knows in the silence that it’s Lane. She starts towards the door, but Julia grabs her hand before she can run. “Who was that? What’s happened?”
“It was Benji,” Ilsa replies. Julia’s jaw clenches, and she goes still, fire in her eyes. “I’m coming with you. Where is he?”
And this is where Ethan and Ilsa are truly, deeply different - Ilsa’s always respected Julia’s willingness to put herself in danger, to put the life of another over her own, to weigh the risks and take the gamble. Ilsa’s spent years now seeing danger in the quieter, smaller corners of the world, the way Julia jumps in without pause to fight through it and doesn’t stop until she’s done. Eris married her for that, and Ilsa won’t belittle it now. “Where are the wooden huts on the edge of this camp?”
Ilsa takes the lead when they find the location. She’s got the gun and the training, the sharp eyes to catch Benji tied to a chair in the middle of the space. Ilsa goes for him, heart in her throat at the thought of blank eyes, no pulse, but Lane’s lying in wait for her when she makes her rescue attempt, then everything fades out when they begin to fight.
When she’s pinned, when Lane has his gun to her head, she’s calm. Good soldiers always remember they can die in the line of duty. Good soldiers know, the moment they take their last breath, that it was worth it. She’s bought time for Benji. She’s done her best. She saw that look on Julia’s face, anyway. There is no future beyond this moment for her without her wife. She can go.
Then Lane lets out a yell of pain, the gun slips from his hand, and when Ilsa reopens her eyes, Julia is holding a broken bottle and Lane is on the floor bleeding from the head. A simple and anticlimactic end to an unfair fight. Not remotely surprising - after all, it’s Julia they’re talking about.
Ilsa errs on the side of caution and knocks Lane properly unconscious, then frees Benji before he chokes to death. The second he’s back on steady ground, she goes for the bomb and leaves him to gape at Julia’s presence. “Ilsa! What is Julia doing here?”
Ilsa doesn’t need to look over to feel Julia’s glare burning furiously into him. “Oh, I don’t know, Benji. It’s not like I just saved your life, is it?”
“Benji,” Ilsa urges, seeing his mouth open and the stressed furrow of his brow. “Come on, I can’t defuse this alone. Get Luther on comms, we need to figure this out!”
Credit to Benji, he doesn't waste time chivalrously urging Julia to leave or anything stupid like that. He shakes himself and goes to her side a second later, all seriousness. “Luther, come in. How’s it going on your side?”
“Better without you two bothering me,” he says neutrally. Relief colours his words, unmistakeable, and Ilsa smiles briefly. “Give us an update, please?”
It’s not positive. Ethan hasn’t responded, having dropped off while chasing Walker on a helicopter. They’re flying blind - Ethan hopefully isn’t; helicopter?! - and they just have to carry on. Benji begins work cutting wires, with Julia and Ilsa there to help. It’s a good excuse not to look at her, but Julia’s never been one to avoid uncomfortable conversations. She has a wire clamped down, and she’s focused, but they’re also in the eye of the storm, and she has time enough to stare at Ilsa like she’s a stranger and say, quietly, “three years. Three years we’ve been married, and you were always just waiting to be recalled by MI6. If not because of this, at some point, you would’ve up and left and returned to be the agent you are.”
Ilsa swallows hard and nods; her chest burns watching Julia’s eyes well with tears. “So you could have died on duty at any point and I would have had to attend your funeral and find out that the woman with whom I was planning to share the rest of my life had been lying to me since the day we met. That’s what could have happened any time in the past three years!”
“Julia,” Ilsa starts, but Julia cuts her off with a mirthless laugh. “No. No, don't even - I don’t even know who you are any more.”
“I’m still me,” Ilsa whispers. The words scrape at her throat and she has to force herself not to cry, too. “I’m still your wife - “
“No,” Julia says, adamantly shaking her head. “My wife is Eris Oster, and I’ve just found out she doesn’t even exist.”
Ilsa Faust’s been trained by MI6, so her hands don’t shake because she demands them not to, but it’s a damned hard go. “She’s here,” and it’s getting desperate now. “I’m right here, Julia, I promise, I - Eris wasn’t a lie. Our life wasn’t a lie, it was real. I loved you when I proposed three years ago, I meant it - I love you still, and that is real. I swear it.” Ilsa steels her jaw, keeping her voice level. “You’re right. I’m not Eris. But I am here, and I am real, and I love you.”
She means it. Ilsa’s done nothing but lie and lie and lie - she knows that, she thought she could live with that, but this much is true. That file on Eris, a whole life carefully crafted for her by MI6 - Ilsa lived it, but not the way it was written. Not after Julia. Ilsa met her in her normal job in her normal hospital, took her home to a normal suburb, and that was all she needed. She wanted to be real. Falling for Julia - the love had been real, and all Ilsa had wanted was for the lover to be real too.
“It was a lie,” Julia replies, low and cold and bitter. “Do you know what happened the last time I fell in love with a lie? I had to leave it all behind. Everything I’d ever known. Everything. I had to run - I spent so much time running, always looking over my shoulder, always being scared. All of that to be safe, and after all that, I’m back here again.”
Every word she speaks feels like a blade through Ilsa’s ribs. She stares at the mess of wires in front of her, silent, numb, and from the corner of her eye she sees Benji glance towards her, then to Julia. “Maybe it’s not my place - tell me to shut up and focus, and I will, but - can I ask you something, Julia? Just one thing?”
Julia studies him, wary, and finally nods. Benji says, “you said you’ve been married three years. In that time, did you ever do that again? Look over your shoulder?”
The silence returns, lingering. Julia’s lips are pressed together and she doesn’t look at either of them when she exhales and replies, “no”.
Benji doesn’t look at them either, carefully following Luther’s instructions and keeping his voice level. “Ilsa’s not Ethan.”
“I know that,” Julia says with an edge in her voice, and Benji adds, still calm, “I know. That wasn’t my point. It’s more that if there’s one thing I know about him, it’s that he loved you. No matter what else he lied about, that was true. And I like to think I know Ilsa too.”
The timer is ticking down, second by second, and Ilsa thinks about lying on this same floor just minutes ago, ready for a bullet in her brain. The words finally come without her thinking about them. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I lied to you, and that you had to find out this way, and I’m sorry that if we fail, we are all going to die. But I can’t be sorry for falling for you, or building a life with you. I can’t.” Her voice is trembling, but she continues. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. If I could go back, I’d still do it all over again. Every single time. I know it was selfish, I know, and if we make it out of this alive, I’ll understand if you never want to see me again.” She takes a breath, and realises she’s crying now. “I know if Ethan was here, he would tell you to run. To at least try. And I know Luther and Benji want you to do that too. But if this is how we go out, there is nothing I’m more grateful for than the fact that you’ll be the last thing I see before I die. The most beautiful thing in my life.”
They have twenty seconds left, and they still can’t get in touch with Ethan. Julia’s finally lifted her head to stare at her, and Benji’s got his hands in the body of the bomb. Ilsa inhales, ragged, and says, “I love you, Julia Meade.” If she dies today, if she dies right now, she wants that to be the last thing she ever says.
Ten seconds left. Julia sighs, takes Ilsa’s hands in hers, and kisses her, slow and sweet and real. “I love you too, Ilsa Faust.”
“On one,” Luther says over the comms. Benji’s poised over the bomb, ready, and Julia is clinging on to Ilsa, their foreheads pressed together, and maybe this is the end -
“Three, two, one - “
Benji cuts the wire.
Snap.
A second passes. Then another, then another. The world doesn’t go black. The countdown stops. The bomb clicks open, and a sphere of plutonium falls uselessly to the ground.
It’s over.
They did it.
“Ethan,” Benji whispers.
“He got the detonator,” Julia breathes.
“Of course he did,” Luther says, and it sounds like he’s crying.
They did it.
The end.
(But, of course, it’s not.)
Ethan returns to the medical camp in Sloane’s helicopter, battered, bruised, but victorious. Julia and the other medical personnel get to work on him immediately while Benji and Luther press against Ilsa, shoulder to shoulder, and they just watch and wait. It takes some time, but finally, Ethan opens his eyes again and smiles at them, tired; they all cry, even if Benji staunchly denies it. Julia steps away, hands trembling in relief, and Ilsa goes to her side to hold them. Julia leans into her and they look down on Ethan staring up at them. A long moment passes, and then he says, “you’re okay”, and Ilsa laughs and laughs, because of course, even after a helicopter chase and free-climbing a rocky cliff and saving the entire world, that’s the first thing Ethan Hunt would say to them. “Yeah. We’re okay.”
It’s much later when she’s left alone by his bedside, Julia off to care for more patients, and Benji and Luther leading Sloane to Lane and the defused bombs. Ethan glances at the ring she’s put back onto her finger and Ilsa smiles, hesitant, waiting for him to talk.
“The world is a small one,” he finally says. He sounds thoughtful, maybe a little sad. “Of all the people she could have married.”
Ilsa takes a moment to find her words. “I love her,” she says softly; that part’s not hard at all. She wonders if Ethan is angry. She thinks it would hurt if he is, which doesn’t surprise her any more. She also knows it wouldn’t matter, which doesn’t either. She’s never letting Julia go again.
Ethan just smiles, though, small and sincere. “Yeah. She’s an easy one to love.” He reaches for Ilsa's hand and holds it gently. “She chose well, Ilsa. Thank you for taking care of her. Thank you for keeping her safe.”
God, Ilsa Faust will not cry in front of Ethan IMF Espionage Legend Hunt, she simply will not.
And she doesn’t, but damn her, it’s a near thing.
Even later on, they’re finally in a plane heading back home, Sloane talking to Benji and Luther, Ethan on a stretcher, Lane secure in the rear cabin, and Julia by her side. They’re an hour into the flight when Julia rests her head on Ilsa’s shoulder and speaks. “We have a lot to talk about.”
“Yeah,” Ilsa answers, and waits. Julia hums and tangles their fingers together, running her thumb against the cool metal of Ilsa’s ring. “First things first, we’re getting married again. Using your real name this time - I don’t care how you make that happen with MI6 and all that, but we’re going to figure it out.”
Ilsa’s heart stops for a second and she can do nothing but stare dumbly at Julia, who grins back. “And this time, we’re getting married on the beach like I wanted. In the Maldives, maybe, if I have anything to say about it.”
And Ilsa’s a good soldier, and MI6 gave her a life - but they took it from her too, all that time ago, and she thinks she’s done with the fighting, the killing, the almost dying. At least for a little while. She knows how to read between the lines - to know that Julia is staying with her, to know that there’s a lot they need to work out, but work it out they will. She lets herself cry, tears spilling down her cheeks, and Julia pulls her close. “Anything you want,” she finally manages to say. “We’ll go anywhere you want.”
Anywhere, Ilsa thinks. With you.
FIVE YEARS LATER.
Going after the cruciform key isn’t really a job. It’s a duty. And if there’s one thing Julia understands, it’s duty. And trust, too, letting Ilsa hide out in the Empty Quarter to wait, knowing for sure she’ll come home. Ilsa doesn’t lie, these days - she keeps her promises too.
Ethan finds her, of course. They fight their way past bounty hunters with more ammunition than sense, and make it out unscathed. Outside in the raging whirl of the sandstorm, Ethan shouts over the noise, “you’re dead! Stay dead!”
And, you know - they saved the world together. Ilsa wants to listen to him, but she’s also not sure how he reasonably expects her to sit pretty at home with Julia while he gets himself into trouble and barely escapes it half the time. It’s his fault he instilled the whole ‘put your friends first’ and ‘every life matters’ mindset in her anyway.
She makes it home thirty-six hours later, embraces her wife, and then spends an hour talking her through her plan. Dangerous, reckless, fraught with risk, but necessary, borne out of loyalty and love, and what do you know? Julia gets that too.
When Ethan jumps into the back of that van in Rome and sees four people instead of two (or even three), his jaw drops and he nearly topples back out of it. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Ilsa snorts - it’s always fun to be able to take Ethan Hunt by surprise. His eyes are wide, and he gasps, “Julia!”
“Strap in,” Julia orders sternly, and Ilsa grins, settling down beside her and taking her hand. Ethan stares, and just keeps staring. “How are you here?”
“I came with Ilsa, of course. Here we are.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Ethan says, earnest, worried, understandably so. Ilsa’s glad he’s not directing any accusing looks at her, though, or Entity or not she’d definitely punch him. He continues quickly before Julia can retort, “Julia, I trust you, I know you chose this, I just - I wanted - we want you to be safe.”
Julia tilts her head, tone questioning. “Are any of us safe with the Entity around?”
Ethan doesn't argue the point, but stresses, “you’d be safer out of this. Both of you," he adds, glancing to Ilsa. “You were supposed to stay dead. I wanted you off the Entity’s radar too.”
“Ethan,” Julia says, gentle, understanding, but decidedly firm. “This isn’t about what you want. There’s a lot more at stake. And I think you know by now that you’re not the only one who was ever asked to make a choice.”
It takes another moment, but finally Ethan sits down and straps in, ruefully saying, “I suppose it is good to see you two." Tension seeps slowly from his muscles as Benji hands him a tablet and updates them on the safe house Luther’s driving towards. Ilsa grounds herself with the sound of his voice, the rolling hum of the van, Julia’s fingers linked through hers. Doing the right thing with her team at her back, her wife by her side, answering to nobody but herself. Yeah. She could get used to saving the world.