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“Something I can help you with, Mr. Brandt?” Director Hunley asked when Will knocked on the doorframe of his office.
Yeah, I’d appreciate it if you stopped polygraphing my boyfriend, Will thought, but that would get him in trouble from about three different angles and there was enough to deal with at the moment. “You asked to be notified when there were any new leads on Agent Hunt,” Will said, stiffly.
Hunley’s head came up, properly focused. “And?”
“Surveillance got a 97% facial match from a camera in Havana.”
“How long ago?”
Will glanced at his watch. “Thirty eight minutes.” He’d wasted ten of those minutes bringing the information up to Hunley in person instead of calling, on the off chance that it actually was Ethan in Havana. Even two extra minutes head start could be life or death when you were in the wind.
The look in Hunley’s eyes said he knew that. Will and everyone else transferred from the IMF were on thin ice, delicately balanced between charges of treason and giving up their old teammates who’d refused to come in and submit to CIA control.
Hunley picked up his office phone to contact ops. “I want a team in Cuba immediately.”
Will turned to leave.
“Mr. Brandt,” Hunley called after him. “Speaking of Agent Hunt, I’ll be asking Agent Dunn some questions about him during his polygraph today. If you’d like to supervise.”
“Yes, sir,” Will said, barely managing not to clench his teeth, and left before Hunley could get in another parting shot.
-
Benji passed the polygraph with his usual sterling duplicity. “Got two tickets to the opera,” he said, after, tossing a ticketbook down on Will’s desk.
“Oh?” Will said. They tended to go every couple months. Benji was into it and Will thought it was fine. “Benji…,” Will said, frowning as he looked at the tickets more closely. “This is in Vienna.”
“I won them,” Benji said, meaningly.
Ah, Will thought. Ethan. Ethan would really be wanting Benji for anything he needed help with but two tickets indicated that Will was invited too. Nice of him, Will considered, a little glibly. He and Ethan liked each other socially but their mission operation styles clashed hard. Will’s failure on Julia’s protection detail had made him, already a chronic over-thinker, a pessimistic second guesser where Ethan was a solve one problem and then the next and the next until you either die or don’t type of person.
“You should go,” Will said.
“Alone?” Benji asked. There hadn’t really been any question that he was going, just whether Will was coming with him.
“I shouldn’t leave work right now,” Will said. “Things are…delicate.” And two previous IMF agents going out of the country would be more of a red flag than one.
Benji gave him a teasing grin and tweaked an imaginary bowtie. “You’ll miss me in my tux.”
That was a sacrifice. Will reached out to clasp Benji’s wrist, stroking his thumb over the sensitive pulse point. “Put it on for me when you get back.”
Benji was a hazard to Will’s higher brain function in that tux. In anything really, but nice suits in particular. Will remembered the morning he’d first discovered that with perfect clarity. Benji had tried on one of Will’s vests, the grey pinstripe, mostly as a joke. The fit had been a little loose but Will had torn off the last two buttons in his haste to get him back out of it. Locating them on the floor and sewing them back on later had been fully worth it.
“Wow,” Benji had said, looking as rumpled as the bedsheets. “Was it the fancy clothes or that they were your clothes?”
Will had considered it, still breathing hard. “Both, maybe.”
Benji knocked on the desk to bring Will back to the present and smiled. “Don’t worry. Be back in no time.”
-
Benji didn’t come home after the opera. Also, the Chancellor of Austria was dead and Hunley had decided the manhunt for Ethan was now no-holds-barred, so things were not great. Will was going to need an assist here.
Luther wasn’t his first choice, he was Will’s only choice, although he made it immediately clear that he wasn’t at Langley for Will’s sake, he was there for Ethan. “I don’t know you,” he said which, fine, Will had only been a voice on the comm channel for that mission in Minsk and he hadn’t exactly covered himself in glory, but, “If I have any doubts about whose side you’re on,” was going a little far.
“I’m on Benji’s side,” Will snapped, which was the same as Ethan’s side. He didn’t think Luther was going to dispute that. It did, however, change something in the way Luther was looking at him.
“Introduce yourself to me again,” Luther said, slowly.
“Will Brandt,” Will said. They’d only referred to him by last name over comms he supposed.
Luther’s eyebrows jumped. “Benji’s Will?” he asked, assessing Will more closely.
“Yeah,” Will said. “Problem?”
Luther shook his head slowly. “I didn’t realize. You’re not what I pictured. More…”
“Straight-laced?” Will offered, with the mild sarcasm that deserved. Still, it was a kinder term than the ones people usually used. Rigid. Uptight. Neurotic. ‘Adamantine bastard’ had been his college roommate’s un-joking favorite.
Will tried to take it on the chin. He couldn’t necessarily deny the characterization but it still stung, the negative connotations, and it hadn’t helped his past attempts at relationships. He’d worried that Benji too would get tired of his constant exactitude, leave. Will had brought it up a few weeks into dating to feel Benji out, see if there was some specific way he could soften himself. He’d tried to make it sound like an offhand topic but the fact that Will had actually planned out the conversation to see what Benji would say maybe proved people’s point.
What Benji said, indignant, was, “Rigid? Cold? Who said that?”
Will waved a generalizing hand. ‘Rigid’ had been applied to him since he was three and organizing all his blocks by shape and color before he’d consent to build anything.
“Well I think you’re lovely. Steady,” Benji said, kissing Will on the cheek. “Sweet,” he added, with a kiss on the nose. “And, you know, I think there’s a lot to be said for consistency. I personally quite like how you can fuck me like you have a metronome going in your head,” he’d finished before kissing Will properly on the mouth for the next several minutes.
Benji was probably fine, Will told himself. He hadn’t sent a message through to Will after the opera because he knew how closely Will was being watched by the CIA. Likely he’d sent something to one of their dropboxes abroad but Will wouldn’t be able to get to those with any speed.
Luckily, two minutes of Luther’s time was worth the entire CIA Surveillance department. An hour later, he and Will were on a plane to Paris where they could shake any pursuit before making their way to Casablanca.
“So,” Luther said, instead of respecting the ‘ignore other agents on public transport’ rule, “you and Benji.”
“Are you going to give me some speech about not hurting him?” Will asked, interested in spite of himself. Ethan had never even obliquely given him one which had surprised him a little.
“Do I need to?” Luther asked.
“No,” Will said, and then for some godforsaken reason he’d pulled the ring box out of his pocket.
Will had bought a ring eight weeks in because he didn’t like a lot of things but when he did like something, love something, it was pretty well guaranteed to be forever and he’d loved Benji quick and easy, like falling. He’d wanted to be prepared.
Objectively, however, Will realized that asking someone to marry you after eight weeks was considered relatively insane and, also, that Benji was likely not on the same wavelength so he’d stashed the ring under the false bottom of his sock drawer where he kept his three back up passports and two thousand dollars in each USD, euros, pounds, yen, and rupees.
Once they’d ticked through the typical relationship checkpoints—I love you’s, move in, anniversary, etc—Will had started working on more concrete plans. Candlelight dinner at Giomatto’s. Or he’d cook, badly, but Benji always appreciated the effort. Or, or, or.
He’d started carrying the ring around, soothed by running his thumb over the soft black velvet of the box, and with the somewhat wild idea that he might be spontaneous, find the perfect moment to take a knee.
That had been four months ago and by this point Will had to admit he was waffling, trapped between trying to decide on the perfect proposal and the paralyzing idea that Benji might say no.
Luther, annoyingly observant, immediately zeroed in on where there was a line worn smooth in the velvet of the box from Will’s repetitive motion. “Having a hard time finding the right moment?”
“You could say that,” Will said.
Luther nodded and let the subject drop. Will put the ring back in his pocket. Maybe he’d ask Benji in Casablanca.
-
They found Ethan and Benji in Casablanca by accident, in the middle of a high speed car chase.
“Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ,” Will said, watching in horror, as the car flipped bumper over bumper before landing roof first in a parking lot and skidding to a stop.
“Shit,” Luther added, because of course that wasn’t the end of it. One of the people Ethan and Benji had been chasing stopped his motorbike beside the upended car and got off. There was a silenced pistol in his hand.
Will gunned the engine of their four-by-four and rammed him.
“Told you this was a good choice,” Luther said, patting the windowframe of the truck but Will was already half out the door, crouching to see if Ethan and Benji were all right.
Ethan was awake, looking confused and stunned, like a bird that had run into a window. Benji was unconscious, his neck tilted at a bad angle. “Fuck. Luther, get Ethan out,” Will said, running around to the passenger side.
Benji screamed back to consciousness, which thank god, but, “Benji. Benji, don’t move,” Will said, trying to check him for injury.
Benji moved, hitting his seatbelt release and crashing down onto the roof of the car with a heartfelt, “Ow.”
Okay, Will thought, resigned, as he put his suit jacket down over the jagged glass of the shattered window and helped Benji crawl out it. “Will,” Benji said, pleased, and finally seeming to catch up to the present. He sighed and half collapsed against Will’s chest.
Will got his arms around him in a solid hug and let out a breath of relief. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of Benji’s head. Over the axle of the car he caught Luther looking at them.
Muffled against Will’s shoulder, Benji said, “Will, this mission is not going well.”
“It’s okay,” Will said. “We’ll get things back on track.”
“I didn’t even get to see Turandot,” Benji said, despondent.
-
This was why he was not a habitual optimist, Will thought, head in his hands as they regrouped in the safehouse.
He kept replaying it in his mind: the loud comm feedback, Benji no longer in his position where they were boxing Faust in, Ethan yelling, “Parking garage!” and taking off at a run with Will hot on his heels. And the black van, too far ahead of them, disappearing into London traffic with Benji inside.
Ethan had looked as gutted as Will felt and it wasn’t any consolation.
So now they were going to take the Prime Minister of Great Britain and give a disk with who knew what on it to a sadistic terrorist who might just kill Benji anyway. Will rubbed his finger over the velvet of the ring box in his pocket and tried to breathe. Benji was going to be fine. As long as they unlocked the disk.
“You think Hunley will buy you turning Ethan in?” Luther asked.
“He’ll buy it,” Will said. “He doesn’t know the other pieces on the board. If he knew Benji was at risk, he wouldn’t believe anything I had to say.”
“Hunley knows about you and Benji?” Ethan asked, sounding surprised.
Will felt his whole face go sour. “It’s not like we wanted to tell him,” he said. “The CIA has a disclosure policy.”
At the IMF, there had barely been a Human Resources department at all—the dual team of Sandra and Doris—but the CIA had a whole floor full of HR employees and 128 organizational policy documents for Will to memorize. One of which was Employee Relationship Disclosure.
Usually Will didn’t mind filling in forms, it was about 25% of his job, but he hadn’t appreciated his relationship reduced down to a potential HR violation, and made everyone’s business besides. It had been a particular kind of excruciating to have to write his and Benji’s names in the fill-in-the-blank sections of sentences like ‘This disclosure affirms that __________ and _________ are engaged in a consensual personal relationship’ and ‘Both __________ and _________ agree that should their relationship (1) cause potential conflict of interest, (2) impact workplace cohesion, or (3) terminate, they will alert an HR associate’.
Benji had winced when Will brought the form down to IT for his signature. “I don’t suppose we could just keep things under wraps?”
Will shook his head. There were other forms—payroll, taxes, personnel records—with their matching permanent address. Benji had moved into Will’s townhouse almost a year ago. “If we didn’t live together it wouldn’t be so obvious, but…”
“But we do,” Benji said, scrawling down his name. He looked up at Will and smiled. “And you drive me to work. And bring me lunch. Proper lovely partner.”
“The pizza station is open in the cafeteria today,” Will said. “Do you want pepperoni?”
“Yes, thank you,” Benji had said and pressed a kiss to Will’s lips, out in the open, where anyone could see.
“They make you report your relationship status? That’s some bullshit,” Luther said.
“Only if you’re seeing someone else from within the workplace,” Will said. “Can we move on? Yes, Hunley will take the bait. Can I go make the call?”
“Go,” Ethan said. “I’ll print the Atlee mask and meet you at the auction.”
-
Two point four billion pounds was a lot of money. It was a hell of a lot of money to give to a terrorist. Which was why they weren’t going to.
“You should let me go to the meet,” Will argued. “I have better recall than you.”
“My recall is perfectly up to the task, Brandt,” Ethan said, eyes skimming the accounts revealed with the red box unlocked.
“You should let me go,” Will repeated, jaw clenched, and didn’t say the real reason why.
Ethan paused and looked up. “Will,” he said, more gently, “you can’t go. This isn’t just about the disk to Lane. It’s about me.”
That was fucking true and Will hated it.
“I won’t let anything happen to Benji,” Ethan promised.
Will wanted to believe him, but how could he? Ethan might be able to plan five steps ahead but he wasn’t prescient. There wasn’t any guarantee that Will was ever going to see Benji again.
-
“This is the end, Mr. Hunt,” Benji said, audible through Ethan’s ear comm. He sounded like an automaton, but he was alive.
Will wished they’d had access to eye cams so he could see what was going on. Then Benji said, “Two pounds of Semtex. Five hundred .30 caliber ball bearings. Your friend is sitting on a highly sensitive pressure trigger, so no sudden moves,” and Will decided maybe it was better that he couldn’t see Benji apparently strapped to a bomb, Jesus Christ, and being forced to parrot Lane’s words.
“Head in the game,” Luther said quietly to Will, putting a solid hand on his shoulder and offering him a drill.
He was right, Will thought. The trap they were setting for Lane wasn’t going to build itself. Will took the drill and started fastening the plexiglass panels together, imagining Lane behind them; a snake in a box like he deserved.
Over the comms, he could still hear Ethan running the play, Lane’s frustration leaking into Benji’s voice. And then, a fraught silence. Ethan had put all his cards on the table. It was Lane’s decision now. Was he going to call Ethan’s bluff, say to hell with the money and blow them all up, Will wondered, the drill gone silent in his hands. How much time was left on the bomb’s countdown?
“Ethan, is Will on comms? Can he hear me?” Benji asked, quickly, no longer Lane’s proxy. There must be only seconds left if he wanted to tell Will something now.
“Yes,” Ethan said. Will thought he’d probably have lied and said so even if Will couldn’t.
“Will, I’d have said yes in a heartbeat,” Benji said, voice breaking at the end.
Will felt his heart snap. His hand reached automatically into his pocket for the ring box. Of course Benji had known about it. Will had been carrying it around, taking it in and out of his pocket every morning and every night, for four months. Of course Benji would have fucking noticed. He’d been waiting and it would have been so easy. No matter how Will had proposed, he would have said yes.
And now what was Will going to be left with? The sound of an explosion? The inevitable horrifying pictures and news stories? Not even ash remains. Not that anyone would have given them to him since he had no legal claim. Everything of Benji’s would get shipped to his sister in Manchester who thought he was a software developer and hadn’t seen him since Christmas 2012. Fuck.
Will heard Ethan draw in a sharp breath and then—nothing. No explosion.
“If they get one step closer, shoot me,” Ethan said over the comm which indicated that there was a new problem, but then Lane was letting Benji go and Ethan was telling him to come find Will and Luther. It was time for the endgame.
-
After they handed Lane over to the CIA assholes who didn’t deserve the collar credit, Will booked them overnight at the Savoy using funds from one of the red box accounts because fuck MI6, they owed the IMF more than a comped hotel stay. Even Ethan would probably allow one of the lesser accounts to be kept as a slush fund for any IMF ex-pats.
Benji followed Will to their suite like a zombie and, once there, dumped his jacket on a chair, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed onto the plush king-size bed.
Will undressed more deliberately before he climbed onto the bed beside Benji and hesitated. Usually Benji liked to sleep close, his back wedged up against Will’s front, Will’s arm across him like a safety bar. But he’d just been strapped into a vest bomb. Will wasn’t sure he’d appreciate any kind of pressure against his torso area at the moment.
Benji solved the problem the way he solved a lot of Will’s anxiety, by just doing something that resolved the question. In this instance, dragging Will’s arm over him. This close to him, Will could feel that Benji was shaking lightly, delayed reaction.
“Do you want to go camping again when we get home?” Will asked, because he’d never really learned how to comfort people and camping was a happy memory.
They’d gone out to a campground in Shenandoah. Benji’s idea. Will was functionally suburban and fine with it. Before they left, he’d spent six hours in a Bass Pro Shop frantically learning about camp essentials from one of the associates and bought everything from paracord to water filters.
“I bet I packed something essential that you didn’t, Mr. Prepared,” Benji had said after Will had pitched the tent and started a neatly-ringed firepit. He’d reached theatrically into his backpack and said, “Ha!” on revealing a box of graham crackers, a bag of smushy marshmallows, and a stack of Hershey’s.
“S’mores aren’t essential,” Will complained.
Benji blew a raspberry. “I’ve been reliably informed by every other American I’ve ever met that s’mores are in fact essential camping gear.” He stood and started hunting around the ground of the camp area, coming up with two thin sticks and handing one to Will.
Will had given it a surreptitiously unimpressed look. Outdoors was a dubious locale. The thing had probably been slithered over by snakes, pissed on by raccoons or bears or who knew what, but Benji looked so fucking happy that Will just gave it two quick peeling strokes with his pocketknife and stuck a marshamallow on the end.
It had started raining later. A severe downpour which hadn’t been predicted by any of the three weather apps on Will’s phone, water starting to pool and leak in under the tent flap.
“Maybe we should sleep in the car,” Benji said and they’d both gotten drenched sprinting for it, shoved themselves uncomfortably into the backseat, and warmed back up by jerking each other off and fogging up the windows.
“This was terrible,” Benji had said in the morning, sounding thrilled, as Will started the car so they could finally go home. “Can we do it again sometime?”
“Never,” Will had said, categorically.
Benji snorted into the Savoy’s silk-lined pillow. “Yeah, let’s go camping again, Will.”
“Okay,” Will said, starting to plan the excursion in his mind. He’d bring waterproof matches this time. Maybe a camp stove.
“Are you still not going to ask me?” Benji demanded, turning over so they were nose to nose. There were tears clinging to his lashes. “Do you not want to? Was it just something you were considering, a contingency?”
Will blinked, surprised, before he realized what Benji meant. The ring was in the pocket of his slacks, folded neatly on the desk chair. “I want it to be a good memory for you,” Will said. “Today wasn’t a particularly good day.”
“I don’t care about the, the trappings, Will. I want to know if,”—Benji swallowed hard— “if, for however long we have, you want to spend it together.”
“I do,” Will said. He’d thought that was obvious, maybe even overly so.
“Well,” Benji said, pointedly, “good.”
Will took a breath. “Benjamin Michael Dunn, will you marry me?”
“Yes,” Benji said.
Yes. “I’ve got a ring for you,” Will said, starting to get out of bed.
Benji held his hand tight, keeping him in place. “I know. I’m sure it’s very nice. Show it to me tomorrow, yeah?”
“Okay,” Will said and settled back in, pressing a kiss to the sweet join where Benji’s neck met his shoulder.
-
“It is really nice,” Benji said, admiring the shiny white gold ring on his finger. Will had gotten it inlaid with a strip of green malachite. He’d thought Benji would like that.
“Glad you approve,” Will said, smiling. It felt strange not to have the ring box in his pocket anymore but it was a thousand times better to see the ring sitting on Benji’s finger. He’d already sent in the marriage license application and now that the IMF was being reinstated they wouldn’t even have to update the CIA’s fucking disclosure policy. After an intense six months of absolute bullshit, everything was finally coming up aces.
Then Benji said, “Will,” in that tone that set off alarm bells at the back of Will’s brain. The tone that he’d used before he said he thought it would be nice if they painted Will’s modern white-and-chrome kitchen yellow, that it would be great relationship building for them to watch all 79 episodes of the original Star Trek together, that they should let Ethan sleep on their couch when he was between missions because he was basically a vagabond. And Will had capitulated to all of it.
“Uh-huh,” Will said, cautious.
“Did you mean it when you said you’d go camping again?”
Will thought about the bugs and the dirt and the rain. He thought about the lack of running water and plumbing, the ninety minute drive—either way—on badly maintained roads full of jackass commuters, six more hours in the Bass Pro Shop comparing eight different types of compass. He thought about London and the way he could feel the cool metal of Benji’s ring when he held his hand.
Will laughed. “Sweetheart, we can do whatever the hell you like.”