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Chapter Text

The last time Brandt had been in France, he’d been heading up a surveillance mission, watching this rising tech prodigy IMF had concerns about, given his politics and connections. He remembered it being monumentally boring, which was generally a good thing when it came to surveillance, but still. Boring. As a positive, though, the cuisine had been great.

Which was why Brandt was vacationing in Lyon. Well, it was why he had chosen Lyon, anyway, for quenelles and saucisson chaud, rich food that made him try to get in extra walking so he wouldn’t feel it too much around his middle. That and the fact that it was putting an ocean between him and DC.

He had been in France for three days and was finally starting to feel the coiled tension in his body ease faintly. His head felt clear despite the local Côtes-du-Rhône red wine he had been indulging in and he wasn’t thinking about anything except the city around him and where he should eat next.

Or at least, he hadn’t been until he stepped into a café and felt his gaze drawn to a woman seated alone. She turned her head and Brandt locked eyes with Ilsa Faust. When her eyes widened, he knew she had recognized him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Brandt muttered, as Ilsa inclined her head in an obvious invitation. He skulked towards her, feeling a bit like he was headed toward the gallows, and sat in the unoccupied wooden chair across from her.

Before she could say anything, Brandt burst out with, “I can’t believe this. I cross the fucking ocean and I still can’t escape.”

Ilsa arched one perfect eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

“No,” Brandt said, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I’m sorry, that was rude.” He held his hand out. “William Brandt. I don’t think we’ve officially met.”

Ilsa took his hand, a faint smile playing about her mouth. “Ilsa Faust.”

Brandt nodded at her cup. “Can I buy you another?”

“No, but you can buy me a pastry. Anything with almond.”

“Almond. Got it.”

He ordered two almond croissants and a café crème. Ilsa thanked him when he sat back down, accepting a croissant.

“So this is where you ran off to?” he asked her. He took a bite of the croissant; it was delicious. At least this unexpected turn got him something nice.

Ilsa lifted one shoulder in a sort of half-shrug. “For now. It’s best if I don’t stay in one place for too long.”

That sounded ominous. He wondered how safe Ilsa actually was, and if Ethan knew about that. He supposed it made sense, though; he simply hadn’t really given it any thought. Ilsa had made a lot of enemies and burned a lot of bridges – or had them burned for her.

“Have you… spoken to Ethan?” Maybe Brandt shouldn’t have asked that. Was it insensitive? Too late now.

“Not since I left. He knows how to contact me, if he wants.”

She didn’t sound too confident that he would. Interesting. She didn’t ask how Ethan was, either, which Brandt also thought was interesting.

Not that he particularly wanted to talk about Ethan, so that worked out.

“How long are you staying?” Ilsa asked.

“A week. I’ve got a few days left still.” He had started to think maybe he should have taken longer, honestly; it wasn’t like he couldn’t have. Hunley was well settled in by now and had told Brandt he’d be good without him for as long as Brandt needed. Thinking about Ethan was bringing back the dull thud in his head that he had only just gotten rid of and he could feel the tension seeping back into his shoulders.

“Exciting plans?”

“Wine tour. It finishes up at a goat farm and they let you try the cheese. Thought maybe I’d do that tomorrow.”

Ilsa smiled at him. “Not sure I would call that exciting, but it does sound nice.”

“Well, I’m not really an exciting person. Or so I’ve been told.”

“You work for IMF but you’re not an exciting person?” She sounded dubious.

“I’m an analyst. We’re the boring ones.”

Ilsa shrugged and let it go. When Brandt finished his coffee, he hesitated and then asked, “May I buy you dinner tonight?”

“You want to see me again? Even though I ruined your vacation plans?”

“I’d say it was just an unexpected bump in the road. It’s good, actually. It’s good to know you’re okay.”

“All right, then,” Ilsa agreed. “You can buy me dinner and we can talk about what you’re trying to escape.”

“Great,” Brandt said, and wished he could take back the offer.

-

Brandt ignored all the restaurants boasting their Michelin stars and took Ilsa to a bouchon instead, small and friendly. Ilsa was elegant in simple black, her hair loose, and she ordered in flawless French, smiling and chatting with the server.

They had already moved past the appetizers and onto the main meal by the time Ilsa broached the topic of why Brandt was in France. Maybe she was trying to make him feel more comfortable before she pried, or maybe she was attempting to catch him off-guard. The latter seemed more likely given what she did for a living but Brandt was actually inclined to believe it was the former: his impression of Ilsa thus far was that she was genuinely kind, and while curious, wasn’t approaching him like he was one of her targets.

“I have two theories,” she told him, “but I’m fairly certain I know which is correct.”

“You have theories? You don’t even know me.”

“You might be surprised by what I know about you, William Brandt. In my line of work, it pays to be observant, and I still have a few friends willing to do me favors.”

Brandt sat back a little in his chair. “I’m a little creeped out, but okay. What do you think you know about me?”

Ilsa began like she was ticking off lines of a report. “I know that you were a field agent, fairly well regarded, very good at surveillance and undercover, who then became IMF’s top analyst. According to my contact, the speculation was you had an op that went badly but the details in your file are partially redacted. I believe it had something to do with Ethan Hunt, his wife’s death, and his stay in Rankow Prison.”

Brandt couldn’t help the clench of his jaw, which Ilsa did seem to pick up on, but she continued talking without comment.

“You were in favor with the IMF secretary before he was killed. He brought you with him to Moscow, which I suspect was a purposeful move to bring you into contact with Ethan. Then you wound up back in the field, as a member of Ethan’s team. You worked with him for some time off and on before you seemed to fully settle back into your analyst role, taking on a lot of administrative responsibility as well. IMF was disbanded and you let yourself be folded into the CIA. This is of course when I became aware of you. I know that you were still helping Ethan, even though he was considered a rogue agent. I know you risked your career and your personal safety in doing so.”

“You make it sound dramatic,” Brandt interjected, and Ilsa’s lips twitched.

“A personal observation,” she said. “It makes you uncomfortable to be noticed, or for your actions to be praised.”

“Jesus. I’m just buying dinner, not paying you to be my therapist.”

“Luckily for you. My rates would be astronomical.”

Brandt laughed. “You’re funnier than I thought you’d be.”

“Thank you,” Ilsa said, amusement lighting up her eyes. “Shall I continue, then? You’ve maintained your analyst role in the reinstated IMF, working directly for the new secretary, Hunley, who doesn’t seem to hold any grudges for your previous actions against him.” She paused for just a second. “Your personal life is extremely hidden. You have no close family members on record, no partners. My contact asked if I wanted them to dig but I declined; I understand why you’d want that private, if you do have people you’re protecting. So that’s all I got from my contact.”

That’s all, she said, like she hadn’t just done a fairly thorough run-down of the past several years of Brandt’s life. “So, your theories?”

“What you’re trying to escape? It’s either IMF or Ethan, but I’m guessing it’s Ethan.”

The back of Brandt’s neck felt warm. “Why do you say that?”

Ilsa’s expression softened. “Because I recognize the signs.”

Brandt clung to that opening, anything to not talk about his own… Ethan Hunt issues. “He would never have gone with you, you know. That’s not any mark against however he might have felt about you.”

“He will never leave IMF.”

“Ethan will die before he leaves IMF. I mean that literally; I think he means to die doing this. Not even his wife could make him quit, and… trust me when I say he loved her as much as anyone can love another person.”

Probably still loved her that much, Brandt knew. That was part of the problem.

“I was right,” Ilsa said. “About why you stopped being a field agent.”

There didn’t seem to be much point in lying. “They were my mission. I failed.”

“Ethan never blamed you. But you blame yourself.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Ilsa dipped her head and Brandt knew she understood. He couldn’t tell her that Julia was alive; that wasn’t his secret to tell. It didn’t change anything, anyway; Brandt no longer held onto that guilt as he had before, but it was still a simmer in the back of his head. It didn’t matter that Ethan got her back, that Ethan claimed responsibility for protecting her.

Brandt had been the agent in charge and she had been taken on his watch. Ethan had been so fucking happy in Croatia, like a man who had everything he wanted. The sound of Ethan’s laughter had been frequent and familiar, as he and Julia teased each other and took obvious delight in the other’s company. Before Moscow, Brandt had been used to the sight of Ethan’s skin glowing in the sun, to the relaxed set of his shoulders, to Ethan dressed down in T-shirts and jeans. And, of course, his smile, wide and genuine, the white flash of his teeth, the crinkling of the skin by his eyes. He had always been smiling; Brandt had found the sight a bit dazzling.

Ethan never looked like that again, after Croatia.

He finished his glass of wine, trying to banish the memory of Ethan. Ilsa was carefully watching him across the table, like she was gauging his state of mind.

“Why did seeing me bother you?” she asked. “Is it only because I remind you of Ethan? Or is it because I asked him to leave with me?”

Brandt blinked at her, shocked by the boldness of her inquiry. “Are you asking me if I’m jealous?”

“I don’t know. Are you?”

It would be easier, maybe, if he was. Jealousy was a simple emotion, easy to understand. Ilsa would be a simple target, the beautiful woman Ethan had been drawn to who asked him to run away with her.

Except it wasn’t jealousy that Brandt felt towards her. Maybe there was a faint twinge of envy, that Ethan had felt something for her that he obviously didn’t feel for Brandt, but that was nothing. He thought maybe… seeing her reminded him that he had never been that brave, that he had never been willing to risk asking the question, no matter what the answer would be. Ilsa had asked anyway, even though she must have known Ethan wouldn’t go.

Brandt would never have asked because he would rather not let the inevitable outcome become fact.

“I’m not jealous,” he said. “I admire you.”

It wasn’t actually an answer to Ilsa’s question but she didn’t press. Maybe she knew what he meant, anyway.

“I admire you, as well,” she said.

“Why?” Brandt asked, a little embarrassed of how surprised he must have sounded.

“Your ability to reinvent yourself, over and over,” she said. “Agent to analyst and back again, administrative assistant, whatever IMF needs you to be. Whatever you need yourself to be. I…” Ilsa gripped the stem of her wine glass but didn’t make a move to drink it. “I’ve struggled to discover who I am, without my work.”

Brandt very gently nudged his foot against hers beneath the table. “I’ve only adapted within the confines of IMF and the CIA. I’m not sure I’d have much luck at what you’re doing.”

“Let me pay you a compliment,” Ilsa said, amusement in the lines of her expression.

They shared tarte aux pralines for dessert, which was rather more alarmingly pink than Brandt had expected though he had to admit it tasted amazing. Working with Ethan hadn’t often allowed Brandt much of a chance to indulge his sweet tooth, or anything else, for that matter; mostly just a lot of looking at tempting dishes and having to pass them by. Ilsa lightened up on the interrogation and Brandt kept thinking that he was having a nicer night than he had anticipated. Not that he thought it would be bad, exactly, but he didn’t know Ilsa. He was surprised by how easy he found it to speak to her.

He sort of wished this was a date, actually. Maybe. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on one; maybe it was only that this felt refreshingly normal. And he liked Ilsa.

It didn’t hurt that she looked incredibly lovely in the low light, either. He found himself tracking the small movements she made, tucking her hair behind her ear, sliding her fork through the end of the tart, turning her head to watch someone come in through the door.

He was perhaps a bit distracted.

“I have a room near here,” Ilsa said, her eyes on Brandt’s face. “I have a very good bottle of wine.”

Ilsa’s fingers were on Brandt’s wrist. He was pretty certain it wasn’t only wine she was offering.

“That sounds perfect,” he said.

-

It was a pleasant ten minute walk to Ilsa’s place. The evening was breezy, the wind catching in Ilsa’s long hair. Her building looked old but well-kept, a couple of big trees out front. She took him to the stairs and up three flights, telling him the elevator was a bit finicky.

“I don’t mind,” he said, and he didn’t. He considered it exercise to counter the dinner (and the wine, and the tart, and the croissant… He really should go for a run.).

She unlocked her door, nearly at the end of the hallway, and let him inside. After switching the lights on, Ilsa gestured and said, “I’ll grab the wine, shall I?”

Brandt took the opportunity to have a look around. He was in a living room of sorts, clean and tidy, with a sofa, an armchair, a low table, a bookshelf. It reminded him a bit of his grandparents’ house when he’d been growing up, if neater and more sparse, and he assumed Ilsa must have rented it already furnished. It was nice enough but didn’t seem quite her style and the artwork had that air of mass produced stuff you’d see in a cheap motel.

After a couple minutes, Ilsa came back with a bottle of red wine and two glasses, which she set on the table. “We could have this now, or we could have it later.”

Her meaning was clear. Brandt was thinking that he didn’t care much about the wine at all, really. “Later? That would work for me.”

Ilsa smiled at him as she narrowed the distance between them even more. Settling her hands on Brandt’s hips, she looked up at him. “This is all right?”

‘All right,’ Brandt thought, like anyone wouldn’t be hugely flattered to be on the receiving end of Ilsa Faust’s attention. She was gorgeous, obviously, and Brandt was learning that she was lovely, too. He was charmed by the notion that she would care enough to ask for his consent and felt a sudden surge of affection towards her.

But on the other side of it, he was able to admit that he was maybe a bit lonely. It was difficult to be close to anyone, with this job, and it was impossible to be close to the person he wanted to be close to. He thought maybe Ilsa understood.

He gave her a simple nod of his head and she walked Brandt over to the wall until his back thudded against it. Brandt flipped them around, nosing at Ilsa’s cheek, kissing her jaw until she bared her throat. He kissed the warm skin of her neck and then the hollow of her throat, the jut of her clavicle. She smelled so good and Brandt sort of wanted to tuck his nose against her skin and breathe.

He dropped down onto his knees, unzipping her pants and tugging them down, pressing his lips against the front of her underwear. Ilsa gasped, digging her fingernails into his shoulders through his shirt. He mouthed at her until her underwear was damp, from his saliva and Ilsa herself, before he pushed it out of the way to simply have his mouth on her. She made a soft sound of need he almost missed and he kept licking at her until she made it again, a little louder, still grabbing at his shoulders. She scraped one hand up over his neck until she rested it at the back of his head, pushing him unconsciously into her, Brandt gripping her hips. He felt the brush of her nails on his scalp when she came, gasping, swaying a little, and he steadied her with his hands so she stayed braced against the wall.

When her hand finally slipped away from Brandt’s head, he glanced up at her, rubbing the end of his sleeve over his mouth. Ilsa’s skin was flushed and she was ridiculously hot; he thought he wouldn’t mind staying here between her thighs for the next hour or two if she wanted.

She was trying to tug him up, though, pulling at the material of his shirt, so Brandt came back up to his feet, running his knuckles briefly over her cheek. Ilsa fumbled with his belt and slipped her hand inside the front of his jeans; Brandt exhaled a tiny ‘oh’ in surprise when she curled her hand around him.

Ilsa smiled faintly, like she thought his confusion was cute. She produced a condom with her other hand and raised an eyebrow in question.

Brandt couldn’t help his laugh. “You’re more prepared than I was expecting.”

“I got it when I brought the wine. In case you picked later.”

He laughed again. Damn, he liked her. “One moment,” he said, kissing her cheek as he gently moved her hand from his dick so he could slide back down to his knees. He ran one hand over her calf until she lifted up her foot so he could unzip her ankle boot and take it off. He set her foot back down and then did the same for her other shoe. Then he tugged her pants the rest of the way down, pulling them over one foot and the next until he could toss them aside. He kissed the instep of her foot, then her calf, and behind her knee, and Ilsa made this breathy sound, half surprise, half pleasure, and he smiled when he stood back up.

“That’s better,” he said, leaning in to kiss the soft skin beneath her ear, biting back a moan when Ilsa slipped her hand back inside the front of his pants to wrap around his dick.

She pushed his jeans down around his hips and rolled the condom on, smirking when she said, “Now that’s better.”

“Yeah,” Brandt agreed, pushing into her as she hooked her leg around his hip. She felt so fucking good, and she clung to his shoulders when he hitched up her other leg until she had them both wrapped around his waist, her back against the wall. Her head dropped back, her eyes half-closed, and Brandt kissed her jaw as he thrust into her.

She was almost soundless when she came, shaking and clenching around him, and he wondered what it would take to make her loud, to make her cry out, swear, yell. He desperately wanted to find out.

He buried his face against the curve of her neck, orgasm rocking through him, hands beneath her thighs. He let her down slowly, Ilsa sliding her hands up beneath his shirt to smooth over his back as he pulled out of her. Brandt breathed for a few moments, watching her wide blue eyes, before he stepped back to get rid of the condom. He felt warm and satisfied, kind of sweaty, and zipped himself back into his pants.

“Brandt,” Ilsa said quietly, and he looked over to her.

She was still leaning against the wall, half dressed, hair disheveled. He wondered how he had gotten this lucky.

“Considering you just fucked me, I think you can call me Will.” Brandt offered her a smile.

“Will,” she said, her expression soft and pleased. “We can still have the wine, if you like. You can use the shower.”

“Thanks,” he said, a bit surprised. “I can go after you?”

Ilsa shook her head. “No, you go on. I’ll pop in when you’re done.” She pointed. “Down the hall, second door on the right.”

So Brandt took her up on the offer. He stripped quickly and didn’t wait for the water to heat up, just stepped in under the cool spray and briskly lathered and rinsed. When he got out, he saw that Ilsa had laid out a clean towel for him on the counter. He dried off and put his clothes back on, wishing maybe he had some clean underwear at least but he supposed he could live with it until he got back to his hotel.

Brandt found Ilsa back in the living room. She had already started on the wine and gestured to the second glass on the table as she stood, wearing a robe now. “I’ll be only a minute,” she said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

The wine was good, Brandt thought as he sipped it. He sank into the sofa as he sat but it was worn and ancient in the best way, perfectly comfortable. He let his gaze travel over to the bookcase, which was mostly empty but held a handful of mystery novels that must actually have been Ilsa’s.

Ilsa returned shortly, in sweats and a T-shirt, her hair in a clip. She curled up on the other end of the sofa, one leg crossed beneath her. Brandt didn’t know quite why he found it so fascinating to see her relaxed.

“So,” she said, glass of wine in one hand. “Did I ruin your vacation after all?”

Brandt snorted laughter, a sound he was frankly appalled to have made, but it made Ilsa laugh. “Yes. You’ve entirely ruined it. I think you should reimburse me, actually.”

Ilsa tilted her head to the side. “Wouldn’t that make you a prostitute? If I slept with you and then paid you?”

“That would explain why I was so good.”

“Hmm.” Ilsa pretended to be considering it. “I’d need more evidence. I’m not sure you were anything special.”

“Challenge accepted.” Brandt hesitated a moment, thinking about what he was actually saying, beyond the joke of it. Did Ilsa want to see him again? Did she want to fuck him again? Did he?

“Do you want to have breakfast tomorrow?” he asked, hoping it didn’t come out as awkward as it felt in his head.

“Sure,” Ilsa agreed easily. “You can buy me another croissant.”

-

They did meet early for breakfast, in the same café as yesterday, and there was a pleasant lack of awkwardness. They sat with coffee and croissants and chatted amicably, as though they were merely two friends.

“You have that tour today, right?” Ilsa asked.

“Yeah,” Brandt said, somewhat surprised that she remembered. “Do you have plans? Did you want to come?”

Ilsa shrugged. “I like goats. I like wine and cheese even more.”

“Great,” Brandt said, meaning it. It sounded like more fun with Ilsa along, quite honestly. His solitary trip was becoming a whole lot less solitary and that was… good, maybe. He had always been comfortable alone but sometimes he forgot how nice it was to have companionship. He wondered if Ilsa felt that, too.

-

It was a good deal of fun, as it turned out. They tasted rather a lot of wine, which in combination with the sunny day made him regret his buttoned shirt. When he unbuttoned his cuffs to roll his sleeves up, Ilsa teased him about having maintained his muscle tone despite his desk job. She was full of jokes, apparently, and her sly commentary about the others on the tour kept making him laugh. At the second winery, she started making a show of holding Brandt’s hand and kissing his cheek and loudly calling him ‘darling’, after one of the young women along with them kept chatting him up and obviously flirting. Ilsa ostentatiously masquerading as his girlfriend struck him as so funny that he had to put himself into undercover mode so he wouldn’t laugh every time she said, “Will, mon chou, you have to try this one!” He called her ‘cherie’ and so she called him ‘mon petit saucisson’, and he couldn’t keep a straight face.

Their last stop was at the farm, where Ilsa was sweetly thrilled to visit the goats, and Brandt couldn’t stop himself from taking her picture a couple of times. The woman, who had clearly got the memo, even offered to take one of the both of them, Ilsa looking mischievous as she accepted. Brandt got distracted by the goat nudging at him and glanced away from Ilsa, who startled him by kissing his temple just as the woman took the picture.

She handed Brandt his phone back, telling him what a lovely couple they were, and Brandt’s cheeks felt warm as he looked at the picture. “Cute,” Ilsa said, her eyes still sparkling, as she strode off to purchase some of the cheese.

In the van on the drive back to Lyon, Ilsa rested lightly against Brandt, her head on his shoulder, and it didn’t feel like a show anymore. It felt like she was merely at ease in his company, and he… really liked it. He watched the countryside fly by through the window and was glad he had wandered into that café yesterday.

They went back to Ilsa’s place and ate goat’s cheese spread over crusty bread with fig jam, sitting on the ancient sofa. Ilsa did offer another bottle of wine but Brandt laughingly declined, for the health of his liver. He wasn’t that surprised when Ilsa climbed into his lap and straddled him, and she rode him until he came moaning, trying to muffle the sound into her shoulder. Though Ilsa was still mostly quiet, she seemed to like that Brandt wasn’t.

“Thanks for letting me come along on the tour,” she said after, sitting next to him with one leg bent, a flush still in her cheeks.

“Thanks for being my French connection,” he replied.

She grinned. “You seemed so uncomfortable when she started talking to you, I couldn’t let you suffer like that. She was nice, though, it’s almost a shame.”

“One French love affair is enough for me. I wouldn’t know what to do with a second.”

“I was certain that after you leave me you head off to another lover.”

“Christ,” Brandt said. “That’s way too complicated for me.”

“Well, then, I’m flattered you’ve made me your choice.” Ilsa was teasing but there was still a note of sincerity in her words.

“Me, too,” Brandt said, and he meant that.

-

On Brandt’s last full day in France, he and Ilsa went for a walk in the Parc de la Tête d’or. The day was cloudy but warm, so the park was bustling with activity. They encountered quite a few runners and cyclists but kept to a more leisurely pace. They ended up on the grass near the lake, watching the boats.

Ilsa touched his knee. “May I ask you a question? If you don’t want to answer, I won’t push.”

He eyed her warily. “Kind of hard to say no when you phrase it like that.”

“Why did you feel the need to escape from Ethan?”

“You’re incredibly nosy, you know?”

She bit her lip and ducked her chin for a moment. “I prefer inquisitive, or at least curious.”

“I thought you already knew everything about me.”

“I know facts, and I have thoughts and theories, but I don’t know what’s in your head or your heart. I’ve never actually seen you with Ethan, not really. I don’t know how you are with him, or how he is with you.” Ilsa paused. “Like I said, though, I won’t push if you don’t want to tell me.”

The strange thing was that Brandt thought he actually wanted to tell her. He realized that he trusted her – and he trusted her with what was in his heart.

“I was out with him,” Brandt said, “just having a beer, and I was sitting there watching him laugh when I suddenly realized that was all it would ever be. I would be the guy in IMF on the other end of the radio listening to Ethan jump out of a plane. I would be the guy collecting the best intel I could so he didn’t have to jump out of planes only for him to do it anyway. And then every few months, maybe, he’ll call me to have a beer when it occurs to him that’s something we can do, and… that’s it. And… it’s fine. He doesn’t owe me a damn thing. If anything, I owe him, and I’m grateful he’s a good enough person to still want me as a friend. But I just… needed some time. Because if he were into it, what I want is a lot more than that. But that’s not happening.”

“I understand,” Ilsa said, her eyes soft like she truly did. “But I hate that you think you should be grateful that Ethan thinks of you as a friend.”

“Well.” Brandt swallowed and lost the thread of what he had wanted to say. Ilsa understood but she couldn’t really know; she hadn’t known Julia. She hadn’t been in Croatia.

Ilsa moved closer towards him, about as close as she could get without sitting in his lap. Her eyes were very blue from here. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

“I don’t think you really have to ask, at this point.”

The kiss was soft, Ilsa’s hand on Brandt’s cheek. It was the first time they had kissed like this, on the mouth. For a while she seemed to fill up the world, like she was the only thing that mattered, and perhaps that had been her intent; he simply breathed her in with the slow slide of their mouths and he was content.

“Ethan doesn’t know what he’s missing,” Ilsa eventually said against his lips, pulling back to see his face.

“I could say the same thing about you.”

That made her smile. She settled back, laying down onto the grass, and Brandt followed suit. He watched the clouds move across the sky and lay quietly by Ilsa’s side, and it felt exactly like what he needed.

-

Brandt stopped by Ilsa’s before he left for the airport, wanting to say goodbye. “I’m glad I bumped into you,” he told her. “I hope you know how much I mean that.”

The curve at the edge of her mouth and the light in her eyes told him she did. “I’m happy to have been your French love affair, truly.” She hugged him and then tucked a folded piece of paper into Brandt’s pocket. “In case you want to reach me.”

“Thanks,” Brandt said, a little surprised but happy. “Take care of yourself. And if you… if you ever were in trouble, or you needed something, I hope you know you could come to me.”

She smiled and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “You’re a good man, Will. I hope we see each other again.”

“Yeah. I hope so, too.”

Chapter Text

Brandt settled into the comforting familiarity of his perfectly ergonomic desk chair in his office at IMF. Hunley had greeted him with a large file of intel to wade through and then an absent-minded inquiry about his vacation but Brandt hadn’t even minded. The time off had done him good, and he still felt headache and tension free.

He poked around to discover Ethan was in Serbia at the moment; Brandt went over the mission file to reassure himself that it looked clean. Then he set himself to Hunley’s task.

It was another week before Brandt had confirmation Ethan was back in DC, and then heard the mumblings around the office that he was on site doing his debrief. For Ethan, it had been a pretty standard mission, which meant he was probably a bit bored.

Brandt had largely put it from his mind when he looked up at the sound of a knock to see Ethan leaning in his doorway, arms crossed, slightly stretching the material of his black T-shirt across his chest. Well, the time away certainly hadn’t made Brandt any less attracted to him.

“Benji told me you were on vacation,” Ethan said. He lounged in the doorway for another few seconds before inviting himself in and sitting in the chair on the other side of Brandt’s desk.

“I do take vacations on occasion.”

“Do you?”

“Well, I do now, apparently.”

“He said you were in France. Guess you didn’t feel like telling me.”

Brandt realized that Ethan was hurt that Brandt had told Benji but not him. “Benji calls me sometimes to chat. He likes to be current on all the gossip.”

Ethan made a small, dubious humming sound. Brandt felt he was being a bit dramatic about the whole thing, as though he didn’t go off without telling Brandt where he was headed quite frequently. Still, it was a small bit gratifying to know that Ethan cared enough to notice his absence, and to be bothered by Brandt declining to mention it to him.

“You had a good time?” Ethan asked.

“Sure. Probably not your idea of a good time, but it was nice. Drank a lot of wine.”

“What do you think my idea of a good time is?”

“Probably climbing Mount Everest or something else insane like that.”

Ethan laughed. “I like drinking wine, too, you know.”

It was on the tip of Brandt’s tongue to tell Ethan that he had seen Ilsa. Ethan would want to know she was well. But he just… couldn’t. Ilsa felt like his special secret, something only for him. He didn’t want to share their time together in France, even if only to tell Ethan he had bumped into her.

“We can drink wine here,” Brandt said, the words just bursting out of him. “You only have to ask.”

Damn. Why had he said that? He wasn’t sure if he sounded desperate or like he was trying to ask Ethan on a date, but both options were bad.

Ethan’s eyes widened faintly like he was surprised. “Yeah,” he said, “I mean… yeah.” He was blinking at Brandt like he didn’t know quite what to make of him.

“Just a thought,” Brandt muttered. He pretended to be entirely engrossed in the computer in front of him even though the screen had gone dark. Ethan didn’t know that. “Maybe Benji or Luther would want to come.” God, he was pathetic.

“Luther doesn’t drink wine.”

“Fine, then, he’s uninvited.” Brandt risked a glance at Ethan, who was still staring at Brandt curiously.

He almost mentioned Ilsa, just to redirect the conversation, but stopped himself. The way his mouth was running away, he would probably tell Ethan he slept with her and he really, really didn’t want to talk about it. It didn’t seem fair to Ilsa, either, to just put it out there like that.

“How was Serbia?” he said instead, and then added, “Boring?” at the same time Ethan said, “Boring.”

They both looked at each other. The corner of Ethan’s lip twitched up.

Brandt huffed out a quiet laugh. “You’re really predictable, you know that?”

“I’m predictable?” Ethan boggled at him.

“Incredibly. Not in a way where I ever know what you’re going to do, but in that way where I always know you’re going to do something crazy and if you can’t, you’re kind of mad about it.”

Ethan digested that for a moment and then his face broke into an easy smile. “Okay, that’s fair.” He nodded at the computer. “You working on something good for me?”

Brandt shrugged. His screen was still black, in all honesty, but he did have the beginnings of something he thought Ethan would like. “Maybe.”

“Excellent,” Ethan said, standing up. He paused in the doorway, looking back to Brandt, still smiling. “We can have wine after.”

“Oh, fuck off, Ethan,” Brandt said, and absolutely didn’t smile as Ethan walked down the hall, laughing.

-

Over the passing weeks, Brandt fell back into the routine of his life. He spent his days scouring data at IMF and going to meetings with Hunley, his evenings at home reading, or sometimes when he was feeling adventurous he watched a movie. (Benji had looked at him like he was an alien when Brandt had casually mentioned once that he liked the movie musicals from the ‘50s and ‘60s; Brandt was pretty sure Benji hadn’t believed him.) He kept up his regular exercise regimen and visited the shooting range over his lunch hour on occasion, to keep his skills up. He paid more attention to Ethan’s IMF doings than was precisely necessary but no one ever seemed to notice except Hunley, and Hunley had accepted Brandt’s preoccupation with Ethan Hunt as one of his particular quirks.

He found himself thinking of Ilsa from time to time, but thought if she had run afoul of anything he would hear of it. He also hoped she would come to him for help if it was anything she couldn’t handle.

Well, she would probably go to Ethan, he figured. But he hoped she actually believed he was an available option.

He met up with Benji a few times, who was eager for details about Brandt’s vacation, which he gave in a heavily edited form. If he wasn’t telling Ethan about Ilsa, then he definitely wasn’t telling Benji. He almost inserted the flirtatious woman from the wine tour into Ilsa’s place to make his trip seem a bit less dull but then thought if he did that, Benji would probably spill it to Ethan, and Brandt felt weird about Ethan thinking he had slept with some woman in France he was never going to see again.

Not that Ethan would care. It just… made Brandt feel weird.

Once or twice he looked at the pictures of Ilsa at the farm on his phone. There was one he liked best, because her smile was so wide and real. A goat was nibbling at her fingers and she was looking straight towards him behind his phone, grinning, the sun glinting off the tiny gold hoops in her ears, and she was breathtaking. He felt strangely honored to have been allowed to see it, the person behind the veneer of Ilsa Faust.

He missed her.

-

It was a surprise, then, to have his easy routine disrupted by the unexpected. Brandt was sitting in his living room after dinner, scrolling through news reports on his laptop, when he heard a knock at his door. Frowning, he went over to see what it was.

To his shock, Ethan was standing on his doorstep in khakis and a leather jacket. Brandt pulled the door open.

Ethan held out a bottle of wine. “Hey. I wondered if you were serious? That I only had to ask?”

Brandt was staring. Ethan shifted his weight, not quite fidgeting but clearly starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” Brandt said, with a short, sharp shake of his head. “Yes! I mean, I figured you would call first, but yeah. I meant it. Come in.”

“I thought you were less likely to say no if I was standing outside your house.” Ethan’s smile was rueful.

“You’re ridiculous.” Brandt felt oddly self-conscious of his bare feet and his old, worn-in sweatpants. His T-shirt at some point had possessed a logo but it had been through so many washings that not even Brandt could remember what it used to be. Ethan had looked him over head to toe, his lips twitching, but hadn’t commented. “Did you invite Benji?”

Ethan laughed. “Was it really contingent on Benji coming, too?”

“No, I just wanted to check how many glasses I need.” Brandt was also carefully attempting to gauge how Ethan was treating this. Just two guys having a drink, maybe, even if it was just the two of them. Like when Ethan asked him to have a beer. Just in Brandt’s house instead.

He heard Ethan follow him to the kitchen. He found the glasses in the back of a cabinet, where they hadn’t seen much use since Brandt had moved here from his apartment about a year ago.

Ethan whistled. “Wow, actual wine glasses? You’re making me feel real special, Brandt.”

“I’m not a heathen. We don’t drink wine out of mugs in this house.” Brandt gestured for the bottle so he could pop it open.  

“Excuse me, sorry, my mistake.” Ethan’s eyes were warm with amusement.

He took the opened bottle and the two glasses into his living room, Ethan following after. He set the glasses on the coffee table so he could pour easier; Ethan had brought a Malbec. He handed one glass to Ethan and kept the other, sitting on the sofa.

“Probably not as good as what you had on vacation,” Ethan said. He had sat on the other end of the sofa.

Brandt shrugged and took a sip. “I wouldn’t call myself an expert. I just like to drink it.”

“Oh, so you’re not going to tell me all the notes you can taste?” Ethan teased.

“Definitely not.”

“And here I thought you were a budding sommelier.”

“No, but I can tell you that half my tour group certainly thought they were by the second winery we stopped at.”

Ethan laughed. “You went on a wine tour?”

“Yeah,” Brandt said, and hesitated. It was difficult to separate the tour from Ilsa. “We finished at a farm. I got to pet a goat.”

“The highlight of your trip, I’m sure.”

Brandt hid his face in his glass. “Uh huh.”

Ethan shifted so he was turned more towards Brandt. “You had a good time, though? Really?”

“Yes, really.”

That seemed to relieve Ethan, which was odd. “Good. You… seemed like you needed a break.”

That was embarrassing. Brandt wondered what he had done to make Ethan think that. He wasn’t wrong, of course, but Ethan hadn’t been meant to pick up on it.

It was difficult to hide anything from Ethan, unfortunately.

“I suppose maybe I was working a bit too hard,” Brandt hedged.

“Which I appreciate, since it’s my butt you’re helping most of the time, but I don’t want you to run yourself into the ground.”

“Well, I’m all good now. All I needed was a lot of French pastries and wine.”

“And a goat.”

“And a goat,” Brandt agreed. “They’re stinky but cute.”

Mostly Ilsa though, he thought, and then tried not to think about her again.

-

There was a list of potential items of interest that Brandt kept track of, names, businesses, et cetera. On that list were people Ethan had linked to the Syndicate who had gone to ground after they captured Lane. That was how Brandt stumbled upon the name Ilsa Faust.

Frowning, he followed the threads. He didn’t like the picture that was forming here. He had known abstractly that it was likely some of Lane’s angrier disciples might target Ilsa but it was another thing entirely to find concrete proof, and to find the edges of something currently unfolding that was going to put Ilsa in danger.

He texted Ethan. Can you come to my office? It’s important.

Ethan sent back, be there in half an hour.

Brandt continued digging until Ethan knocked at his door. He waved him in.

“I found something.” He gestured to Ethan, getting him to come around behind Brandt’s desk, where he leaned over Brandt’s shoulder to look at his computer screen. Brandt tried not to notice how much he liked the smell of Ethan’s aftershave.

He let Ethan take his mouse so he could scroll at his own pace. After a few minutes, he said, “Can you get me there?”

“Working on it.”

“I wish I knew where Ilsa was.”

Brandt drew his lip between his teeth, hesitating. “She was recently in Lyon, France. I can’t be certain how long she was intending on staying, though.”

Ethan turned his head and Brandt suddenly became very aware of just how far Ethan was leaning over his shoulder, how close their faces were. “You saw her in France? But you didn’t tell me?”

“I wasn’t aware I needed to keep you updated on her whereabouts.”

In one quick, sharp motion Ethan pulled back and straightened, stepping away from Brandt. “You knew I would want to know if she was okay.”

“You could have asked her yourself. I know you know how to get in touch with her.”

“I wanted to give her space, not have her thinking I’m checking up on her. You should have told me.”

“Well, Ethan, it isn’t actually my responsibility to accommodate your hang-ups and insecurities. I saw Ilsa in France while I was on vacation and that really wasn’t any of your business.”

Ethan narrowed his eyes and Brandt felt heat in the back of his neck. Maybe that had been a bit much; he could sense the gears turning in Ethan’s head. Brandt was making too big a deal out of this but Ethan just made him so mad sometimes.

“Just get me to these guys,” Ethan said finally, their disagreement tabled.

Brandt nodded. “You know I will. And I’ll… reach out to Ilsa.”

“Fine. Keep me in the loop.” Ethan turned to leave but he stopped in the doorway when Brandt said his name.

“I didn’t tell you about Ilsa because it was personal.” It felt inadequate but Brandt needed to offer Ethan something.

Ethan’s mouth twisted and then he only looked sad. “And here I thought we were friends.”

As Ethan walked away, Brandt stared down at his desk, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut. He knew that Ethan would take a bullet for him without thinking and he knew that Ethan had shared his deepest, most personal secret with Brandt, not for himself but for Brandt, to ease Brandt’s guilt and soothe his conscience.

All he had needed to say was, ‘I saw Ilsa, she was good’. He had hoarded it to himself, like Ilsa was someone, something he could keep.

He didn’t know what that said about him.

-

True to his word, though, Brandt used the number Ilsa had given him in Lyon. He thought carefully about what to say before writing, Heard some old friends wanted to see you. Wondering if they’d caught up to you. Weather still nice?

His head pounded with a tension headache while he focused on gathering what he needed to build this into something he could present to Hunley and then pass to Ethan, a mission for IMF that would coincidentally knock out a few enemies of Ilsa’s. He used that to distract himself from worrying about Ilsa’s response, or if the fact she wasn’t getting back to him right away was a bad sign.

He knew she could take care of herself. It was only that sometimes that didn’t matter.

It took a couple of hours but Ilsa texted him back. Relief punched through him so hard that he was glad he was already seated. Yes I heard but haven’t been able to meet up yet. Caught some storms actually! Hope you’re well.

She was fine. She was good. She knew they were looking for her. She had left France. She didn’t feel free to tell him where she’d gone.

She was good. For now.

Ilsa’s safe, Brandt sent to Ethan.

The response was almost instantaneous. Thank you.

Brandt breathed out, in, out. He went back to his work.

Unfortunately, he kept hearing Ethan say, ‘I thought we were friends,’ repeating on a loop in his head. He knew that Ethan had been dramatic about it but he also knew that he had handled the situation badly. He felt this kind of gnawing at his insides, thinking that Ethan was upset because of him, thinking that maybe Ethan was doubting that Brandt cared about him. He was no stranger to guilt but that didn’t mean he liked how it made him feel. He didn’t like the reminder that he had disappointed Ethan again, another mistake regarding a woman he cared for deeply, even if this time was easier to fix.

He looked at his phone. Finally he sent, I wasn’t trying to hurt you when I didn’t tell you I saw Ilsa. It wasn’t about you. I should have told you I knew she was okay. I’m sorry.

Waiting for Ethan’s response was nearly as bad as waiting for Ilsa’s had been. The text on the screen in front of him blurred and he rubbed his eyes.

It was only about ten minutes before Ethan got back to him, though. I know. I’m sorry too. I overreacted.

Brandt felt tension he hadn’t realized he was holding ease out of his shoulders. He thought about that marital advice he had heard so many times: don’t go to bed angry. He almost wanted to laugh because he thought he understood it now.

His head clear, he started typing up a proposal for Hunley.

-

Ethan was gone for two weeks. He took Luther and Benji.

Brandt made himself not think about it, distracted himself with other projects. Ethan always got the job done. He always came out okay. Battered, generally, but okay. Ilsa could take care of herself and Ethan would get the job done.

He got a text from Ethan when it was over. Went smooth. Back in DC tomorrow.

Brandt wondered if it had gone smoothly by Ethan’s definition or by his, which definitely weren’t the same. Regardless, he was grateful for the update.

Come by my office when you’re in.

Will do.

Ethan kept his word, and he didn’t look too bad. His cheekbone was bruised and scabbed but he moved fairly normally, not like he was nursing any broken ribs or anything. Medical must have cleared him pretty quickly.

“Ilsa said thanks,” Ethan told him, leaning against the wall in Brandt’s office.

“You saw her there?”

“Yeah. We finished the job together.”

That sounded right. “And she’s good?”

“Yeah.” Ethan smiled a little. “She wanted you to know that she appreciates you. Her words.”

Brandt felt his cheeks heating up, which was stupid. “I’m just the analyst.”

“Right.” Ethan was watching him, this soft look in his eyes, a twist to his mouth. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, probably, to you, but I’m glad you’re here, doing what you do. You maybe just saved Ilsa’s life.”

“She would’ve been fine,” Brandt muttered, staring at his desk so he didn’t have to look at Ethan, ignoring how hot he felt.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you looked out for her.”

Brandt couldn’t stand this, Ethan’s gratitude, like he had done something special, like he hadn’t just been being good at his job. He searched desperately for something to change the subject; all he could think of was Ilsa saying, ‘it makes you uncomfortable to be noticed’.

He raised his gaze again. “Did she ask you to go with her again?”

Ethan looked startled. “No. I… Why, did you think she would? Did you think I would?”

Yes, Brandt thought, and no. But he thought Ethan probably still wanted to. And he knew Ilsa knew he wouldn’t, but still wished he would.

He wondered what he would do if Ilsa asked him. He guessed it didn’t matter. She would never ask.

He shrugged. “You like to take care of people.”

Now Ethan’s mouth was curving down as he frowned. “Ilsa doesn’t need me to do that.”

“I guess not.” Brandt didn’t know why he wouldn’t let it go. He didn’t know why he was trying to be mean. This was what he had wanted, a successful mission, Ilsa safe, Ethan safe. He had built the op. This was exactly the outcome he had hoped for.

“If I was going to go, I would’ve left with her after Lane.” Ethan’s expression was inscrutable.

“Yeah.” Brandt swallowed. He felt shitty. He didn’t know why he was being such an ass. He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop acting so weird with Ethan.

“You think I should have?”

Now Brandt was the one who must look surprised, like a deer in headlights. He blinked at Ethan. “I don’t think anything. I think you should… do what makes you happy.”

Ethan’s shoulders sagged faintly. “Whatever that is.” He sounded defeated.

Brandt remembered him in Croatia, the way he had smiled. “Maybe you’re the one who needs a vacation.” He meant it to sound lighthearted but thought he probably hadn’t succeeded.

“Maybe.” Ethan smiled but it was forced. “Drinking wine and playing with goats worked out well for you.” He was watching Brandt a bit too closely; it made Brandt wonder if Ethan was trying to figure out how Ilsa had fit into his vacation. Maybe he already guessed.

“You can always come over and drink wine with me again. If you want.” Brandt dipped his gaze down to his desk, not wanting to see Ethan’s reaction.

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Ethan’s tone sounded sincere. Brandt dared to look at him again; Ethan gestured vaguely in the air as he stepped away from the wall. “I have a few more things to get done around here.”

“Of course. Try to get some sleep.” Christ. What was he, Ethan’s parent?

Ethan only saluted him on his way out, though, so he couldn’t have been too bothered.

Brandt turned back to his computer, losing himself in the banality of reading reports so he wouldn’t think about Ethan or Ilsa.

-

Though Brandt continued to monitor his list, Ilsa’s name didn’t pop up again. That didn’t necessarily mean she was safe; it only meant that if she wasn’t, there was nothing he could do about it.

He did his best to put that from his mind. If she needed him, she would ask. Brandt had to believe that.

Instead, Brandt focused on work and Ethan. The two went hand in hand; Hunley allowed Brandt to take point on most of what IMF sent Ethan to do. Brandt told himself that was only as it should be; he was their top analyst and Ethan was their top field operative, so it was logical that Brandt should design Ethan’s missions.

Personally speaking, relations between Brandt and Ethan largely returned to normal. Neither of them mentioned Ilsa. Ethan didn’t come over again but he did always stop in Brandt’s office when he returned from missions. Brandt appreciated the reassurance of seeing Ethan in person, even if it was maybe a tiny bit embarrassing to accept that Ethan must know that, or else he wouldn’t do it.

Part of him liked to think that Ethan did want to see him, too.

Months passed like that, nothing at all out of the ordinary, until Benji called. They had been in Chile, just outside Santiago, tracking an arms dealer. Brandt knew something had to be very wrong for Benji to be calling him.

“Ethan’s been shot,” he said, and Brandt gripped the edge of his desk, keeping silent to let Benji talk. “He’s out of surgery now, they say he’ll be fine. But they’re keeping him here a few days to monitor. I thought you’d want to know. We’re… all good, by the way. Gunshot would never stop Ethan from finishing the job.”

“Tell me where you are,” Brandt said.

-

Ethan looked pale in the hospital bed but he also looked bored and irritated, which Brandt took as a good sign. His lips curved as he took in Brandt’s entrance and watched him pull a chair over to sit next to him. “It’s nice you came to visit, but you couldn’t get me out of here instead?”

“Hunley said a med evac at this point would draw too much attention,” Brandt said, and he wasn’t even lying. He had asked. “Best he would do was fly me in.”

Ethan made a small humming sound and he was still faintly smiling. “Talk about service. The other agents will be so jealous; I bet the chief analyst has never flown in to their sick beds before.”

Brandt fought against the flush rising in his skin. “Just protecting my asset. Benji said you were close to breaking yourself out of here against medical advice.”

“Well, the food’s terrible.”

“If you’d gotten shot a few months ago I could have offered you some goat’s cheese, but you waited too long.”

“Too bad. You didn’t even bring any flowers.”

“Left in a bit of a hurry. Sorry.”

Ethan’s smile made another appearance, brighter this time. “Oh, you know your lovely face is better than roses, Chief Brandt.”

“Fuck off,” Brandt said, but he grinned back.

-

Luther and Benji headed back to DC to begin the post-mission process while Brandt stayed to keep Ethan company – and ensure he didn’t leave before he was officially discharged. Ethan was an awful patient, grumpy and impatient, but Brandt was well-schooled in handling Ethan’s particular brand of bullshit.

“Looks like you’ll be getting that vacation after all,” Brandt told Ethan when he was discharged.

Ethan narrowed his eyes as he sat on the edge of his bed. “Excuse me?”

“Maybe you haven’t been listening but I have. You’re going home, sure, but you’re still recovering. IMF’s not going to clear you for active duty.”

“Damn it,” Ethan muttered, scowling, but even he knew the futility in arguing. He was in no shape for a mission right now.

“No climbing Mount Everest either,” Brandt added, which successfully made the corners of Ethan’s mouth lift up faintly.

He helped Ethan dress; not that Ethan needed it, exactly, but his movements were slow and tinged with pain so it just seemed… easier. Ethan’s eyes went wide and he trembled beneath Brandt’s hands, but he submitted to the assistance. Brandt kept his touch minimal and efficient and neither of them met the other’s eyes.

“Why did you come?” Ethan asked, voice low, as Brandt finished buttoning his shirt. “It’s a long flight. You’re busy. Benji or Luther could have stayed here, if you were really concerned I’d make a run for it.”

Brandt withdrew his hands and took a small step back, leaving Ethan some space. I panicked, was probably the most honest answer. Benji had told him Ethan was hurt and Brandt knew he had to go. That was it.

He wanted to make a joke. He desperately searched for one but his mind was blank and Ethan was simply watching him, curious, guarded.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Brandt said finally. The truth, in the least embarrassing form he could put it in.

Ethan brushed his fingers against Brandt’s elbow. He didn’t say anything but there was a sort of fondness in his eyes as he looked at Brandt, before he turned around to the door.

Brandt followed, just behind Ethan’s shoulder.

-

Back in DC, they both returned to IMF and then headed their separate ways, Brandt to check in with Hunley and Ethan to medical. Brandt pretended he didn’t notice the open amusement in Hunley’s face when he asked about Ethan (“our top-of-the-charts kamikaze”, as Hunley put it).

Brandt had settled back into his office when Ethan appeared later, eyebrows drawn in resignation. Ethan dropped somewhat gingerly into the chair opposite Brandt’s desk.

“I was right, I take it?” Brandt asked.

“You know you were.”

“Well, think about it like it’s a good thing. Time off. You can pick up a new hobby. Something low energy. Knitting, maybe?”

Ethan blinked at him, and then he laughed. “Knitting. Yeah. I’ll make you the ugliest sweater and you’ll have to wear it because I made it for you.”

“Hmm, a sweater’s pretty ambitious for a first try. Stick to something smaller, like a hat. You can give it to Luther.”

“He’d love that,” Ethan said, and as he smiled, Brandt thought they were going to be okay.

-

Brandt had only been to Ethan’s DC apartment a couple of times. He remembered it being spare, like somewhere Ethan didn’t spend much time and had never bothered making into an actual home. This time, when Ethan asked him over during his enforced convalescence, the first thing Brandt noticed were the piles of books all over, on the counter in the kitchen, on the table by his couch, shoved into the stand where he had a record player.

“I can take a guess what you’ve been doing instead of learning to knit,” he said to Ethan, leaning his hip against the doorframe as he watched Ethan grab two beers from the fridge.

Ethan shrugged a bit sheepishly. “I never had the patience for much reading but I’ve been… incredibly bored.”

“No shit,” Brandt said, feigning surprise, and Ethan chuckled. He outstretched his arm to hand Brandt a beer, a small spasm of discomfort spreading briefly over his face.

Brandt took the beer and then set it down on the counter, moving closer to Ethan. “Still hurts? Can I see?”

Ethan took a step back like he was going to refuse and then relented, putting his beer down, too. He raised up the edges of his shirt.

Brandt moved closer again, carefully inspecting the wound on Ethan’s torso. The stitches had been removed and it looked neat and clean, no sign of infection. Brandt was touching without consciously intending to, smoothing his fingers around the edges of the wound on Ethan’s unmarred skin, and Ethan trembled.

Brandt drew his fingers back. “Sorry,” he said, darting a glance to Ethan’s face.

Ethan wasn’t looking at him, his gaze fixed at the wall. “It’s fine,” he said, his posture tense, expression blank.

Suddenly Brandt felt like he was doing something he shouldn’t be, self-conscious and uncomfortable. He stepped back. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Ethan said again, dropping his shirt, finally meeting Brandt’s eyes. If Brandt hadn’t known better he might have thought there was a faint suggestion of color on Ethan’s cheekbones but Ethan never blushed, so that couldn’t be right. “It only hurts when I move, sometimes. It’s better.”

“Good,” Brandt said, picking his beer back up to give himself something to do. “You know, I have a lot of books, if you want anything.”

Some of that tension Ethan was holding slid out of him, his shoulders not riding quite so high. “Yeah? What kind of books? Big, smart books, probably, right? Non-fiction?”

“There’s nothing wrong with non-fiction,” Brandt muttered, and Ethan smiled at him.

“Nothing at all,” he agreed, affection seeping into his tone. “Do you still like birds?”

Brandt frowned a little. “Birds? I mean, yeah, I like to watch them. Why, you want to pick up birdwatching, too?”

“That’s a low energy hobby, wouldn’t you say? Have you got books on that?”

“Yeah,” Brandt said, trying to figure out if Ethan was suggesting what Brandt thought he was. “I can come by in the morning, on the weekend, if you want. Best viewing is early morning. Or I can just give you a book. You don’t really need me for it.”

“I’d like if you brought yourself with the book,” Ethan said, something strangely soft in his eyes, and Brandt finished his whole beer so he wouldn’t analyze it too much.

-

On Saturday morning, Ethan came to Brandt, instead, as Brandt had told him it would be better with his yard than trying to watch from Ethan’s apartment building. Brandt already had a feeder and regular visitors. It was earlier than Brandt preferred waking so he hoped Ethan appreciated his sacrifice; Ethan himself was of course wide awake and in a great mood, because he was one of those weird genuine morning people.

It was nice, though, sitting on his small back porch with coffee next to Ethan, watching the birds. Ethan asked questions like he was genuinely interested and Brandt liked the feeling of sharing something with him.

“I used to birdwatch with my mom when I was a kid,” Brandt volunteered. “She was really into it. When I got a little older I thought I was too cool for it, but then I got this house and I… I don’t know. My mom died a few years ago. I guess I liked the idea of doing something we used to do together.”

“I’m sorry,” Ethan said, reaching his hand over to squeeze Brandt’s knee gently.

Brandt didn’t say anything but Ethan left his hand where it was and he appreciated the comforting touch. They watched in silence for a little while; a couple of squirrels were digging in the yard. Brandt had abandoned battling the squirrels because they always won. He respected their determination, honestly. They reminded him a little of Ethan, with their ferocious protection of their territory and their fearless leaping through the treetops.

(Anyway his mom had liked them. They always made her laugh.)

“She liked sparrows,” Brandt said. “She said they weren’t the prettiest to look at but she thought their singing was cheerful. I think about her when I hear them.”

He looked sideways at Ethan; Ethan was simply watching him, his mouth curved just faintly into a smile. It made Brandt momentarily embarrassed, not sure why he was telling Ethan all this, but Ethan had still left his hand on Brandt’s thigh so maybe it was all right.

“Hope I’m a decent substitute,” Ethan said.

“I guess you’ll do.” Brandt took a sip of coffee as a cardinal hovered on a branch, checking if it was safe. “I’m a little surprised you’ve sat still this long.”

Ethan pressed his fingers briefly against Brandt’s knee before he drew his hand back. “Well, it’s not as boring as I thought it would be.”

Brandt laughed. “It was your idea. Why did you ask me if you thought it would be boring?”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

Taking another glance at Ethan, Brandt couldn’t tell how serious he was being. “Is this a trade-off? Once you’re cleared you’re gonna tell me that now we have to go rock climbing or something?”

“What, you don’t like rock climbing?”

“No, I do, actually. I guess that’s not really a risky enough activity for you.”

“We can go rock climbing whenever you want, Brandt,” Ethan said, tone magnanimous.

“Amazing, thank you.” Brandt kept his voice dry and hid his smile in his mug when Ethan laughed.

Chapter Text

IMF cleared Ethan and he left on a mission not long after. Brandt expected it would keep him away from DC for a month or more, which he was decidedly not feeling bad about. Ethan hadn’t been enthused about all the time off after his injury but Brandt had liked getting to see him more. Like Ethan was an actual friend he could hang out with and not just his work colleague.

It was a surprise, then, when Brandt got a knock on his door in the evening and opened it to see Ilsa Faust standing on his step, a suitcase beside her. He stared for a moment.

She offered him a hesitant smile. “Hi. I was wondering if you meant it, when you said I could come to you.”

Brandt stood frozen for a few seconds longer before he shook himself out of it and stepped back to let Ilsa inside. “Of course I did. Come in.”

He watched her as she wheeled the suitcase into his hall, stopping a bit awkwardly with her fingers around the handle as though she was uncertain what to do next. Brandt was bursting with questions: What’s wrong? Are you in trouble? But he didn’t want to overwhelm her so he simply touched her elbow to guide her in, taking her in to the living room where he stowed her suitcase next to the couch and gestured to her to sit.

He hovered in front of her. “Do you want tea?”

Ilsa raised an eyebrow. “Why, because I’m British?”

“No, because I was making some. It’d be rude not to offer.”

A faint smile ghosted about her lips. “Yes, I would like some tea.”

Brandt disappeared into his kitchen, finding the task of preparing the tea a welcome distraction from Ilsa Faust sitting on his couch. Unfortunately, as the water boiled, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering, wondering why she was here, what she was running from, why she had come to him and not Ethan.

Of course Ethan was out of the country so he couldn’t do much for her at the moment anyway. She hadn’t known that, though, he didn’t think; she had come here first.

He let the tea steep and returned to the living room, where Ilsa was sitting quietly. Brandt leaned in the doorway. “Do you want milk or sugar?”

“A splash of milk, please.”

“Got it.”

He brought two mugs out, hers with milk and his black, and Ilsa accepted one gratefully. Brandt sat in his armchair, just holding the warm mug between his hands. “My grandma was from Liverpool,” he said. “She always made tea if we were sick, or upset, or whatever. It feels comforting to me now, I guess.”

Ilsa smiled. “A cure for all ills.”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

After that they sat together quietly, an odd mix of comfortable and tense. Brandt wanted to know what had brought Ilsa here but he wanted to let her talk when she wanted to, not because he had pressed. She looked well, her hair in a braid over her shoulder, wearing loose black pants and a buttoned blouse, her jacket draped over the arm of Brandt’s couch. She sipped her tea slowly, her fingers curled around the mug.

Eventually she said, “I’m not going to stop being a target.”

Brandt held her unwavering gaze. “I suspect not.”

“You bought me time, and space, for a while. You and Ethan, Benji and Luther. I hope you know how much that meant to me. But I…” Ilsa glanced away towards the window, then back to Brandt. She leaned forward and put her mug onto the coffee table. “I think I might need a bit more help, this time.”

Brandt felt his heart thudding in his chest, faster and faster. “Ethan is out of reach. It will be weeks before he’s back.”

“I didn’t come here for Ethan. I came to you.”

Brandt gulped his tea to give himself something to do, to give him a second to avoid Ilsa’s eyes without it looking like that was what he was doing. “I’m not…”

Ilsa very carefully interrupted him. “Ethan likes to be the hero. That’s not a bad thing; I love that about him. But that’s not what I need right now.”

“You wanted the less exciting option?”

“You said that, not me.”

“I’m not a field agent anymore. Ethan can—” Brandt stopped when Ilsa stood up, watching her cross the room and stand beside him. She held her hand out wordlessly and Brandt took it; she clasped their hands together like comfort, like reassurance.

“Will,” she said, and her tone cracked something deep inside him. “I know that you’re the one who sent Ethan to me. I know it was you who found those men, who tracked them. I don’t know why you think that’s worth less than what Ethan does but that’s what I need. You, your sharp mind, your ability to put disparate pieces together.”  She squeezed his hand. “I know you know how good you are at your job. So let me value you for that. And… because I know you would do anything to protect the people you care about. I’m hoping that extends to me.”

“Ilsa,” Brandt said, not sure why the word was so difficult to get out, why he sounded like his voice was breaking, like a teenager in puberty. “You know it does.”

“Yes.” Her smile was more in her eyes than anything else and though she let go of Brandt’s hand, she didn’t move away, instead perching onto the arm of Brandt’s chair.

“Are you…” Brandt swallowed, trying to clear his throat. “Are you safe here?”

She tensed faintly. “I would never have come here if I thought I would put you in danger.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.” He leaned sideways until their bodies brushed against each other.

The touch and Brandt’s words seemed to relax Ilsa again. “I’ll be alright. I’m ahead of it. That’s why I… need your help. It’s difficult to not have a country. No resources, no back-up.”

She sounded tired. She had been alone for a long time, Brandt knew, getting close to Lane, and now her freedom came with a cost. She was weary and lonely and the idea that she trusted him, that she wanted Brandt to be the team she lacked, made him feel like there was a fist squeezing around his heart.

“I’ll do whatever I can,” he told her. “Whatever you need. But I need to know what you’re thinking because I won’t lie to Ethan. When he gets back, I’m not going to pretend I haven’t seen you, that I’m not helping you.”

Brandt had already kept Ilsa from Ethan once and he hadn’t liked how it made him feel.

“I’m not asking you to,” Ilsa said. “I need you, and maybe I’ll need Ethan, too. Even if I don’t, I care about him, and I know you do, too. I’m not going to jeopardize that.”

“Okay,” Brandt said, because that was good enough for him. He stood, taking his empty mug and Ilsa’s into the kitchen. As he walked, he called back, “You hungry? I can order in.”

Brandt hadn’t eaten either so they had ramen at his dining room table, keeping their conversation light, no further mention of why Ilsa was in DC. He told her about Ethan’s forced convalescence after his injury, maybe embellishing just a little, but it made her laugh and that was all he had wanted.

They talked for quite a while after their meal, and then after they cleaned up Brandt showed Ilsa to the bathroom where she could wash up. In the meantime, he carted her suitcase to his bedroom and found some extra blankets and pillows to make up the couch for himself.

“Please don’t tell me that’s for you,” Ilsa said from behind him. He could hear the frown in her voice.

Brandt turned and rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t have a guest room. Never really thought I’d need one.” Maybe he should reconsider; it wouldn’t be too difficult to bring a bed into the room he’d been using as a home office. He would have to rearrange a bit but it would fit.

“So you’re intending on sleeping on the couch while I take your bed? For however long I’m here?”

“I mean, it’s a fairly comfortable couch.” It was. Brandt was very particular.

“No, that’s unacceptable. I’m intruding; I’m not going to indefinitely kick you out of your room.”

“I don’t mind. If I did, I would have found you a hotel.”

“Well, I mind. We’re both adults and we’ve already slept together. I think we can manage to share a bed, don’t you?”

Brandt stared at her. She stared back. Suddenly he couldn’t think of a single reason not to agree with her.

He wondered if that was just an Ilsa thing. She was so confident and certain of herself that she willed you to accept what she said.

“I think we can,” he said.

-

Brandt woke before his alarm, which was a somewhat unusual occurrence. The room was still dark but the sun was peeking in beneath the curtains; a glance at the clock told him he had only woken about ten minutes before he would have been forced awake.

He let his attention be captured by the other occupant of his bed. Ilsa was still sleeping, curled on her side and facing towards Brandt, her hair spread on the pillow. Her hand was stretched between them, fingers loosely open.

She was so fucking beautiful, Brandt found himself thinking.

They had never done this in France. They had never gone to sleep together, never woken together. They hadn’t even fucked in an actual bed. Watching the stillness of Ilsa’s face and listening to her slow, even breaths was a novel experience.

He had an urge to press a kiss to her cheek, just below the fall of her eyelashes, to curl himself around her and breathe in the smell of her skin and her hair. The desire made him feel ashamed; Ilsa had trusted him to be a friend.

The desire also made him feel confused, because Ilsa was his friend. He couldn’t deny he felt attraction to her, obviously, and he didn’t know that he could say he didn’t want to sleep with her again, but France hadn’t been about anything more than loneliness and unexpected connection, and Ilsa still wanted Ethan, and Brandt was maybe a little bit in love with Ethan, but he—

His alarm blared out into the silence. Ilsa twitched and her eyes blinked open.

“God, I’m sorry,” Brandt muttered, and slammed the alarm off. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, for so much more than the stupid alarm.

“It’s okay,” Ilsa said, her voice rough with sleep. She rubbed at her face and Brandt wasn’t charmed, he wasn’t, Ilsa was his friend.

“I’ll make coffee,” he offered, sliding out from beneath the sheets before he could see Ilsa sleepily emerge, dressed in her thin shirt and shorts.

-

Brandt could admit that he was a little distracted at work. He found that his mind frequently wandered to the woman currently at his house, in ways that were innocent and also perhaps a bit less so. He thought about the reason Ilsa was in DC and what he might do to help her, but he also pictured the smooth line of her cheek as she slept in his bed, and he pictured her sitting barefoot at his table drinking coffee, her hair mussed.

“Damn it,” he said to himself, and forced his mind into blankness as he strode down the hall to Hunley’s office. They had a budget meeting; Brandt hoped perhaps the focus on dry numbers and statistics might help keep his head where it was supposed to be.

It did, sort of. Not really. On the way out Hunley said, “Hunt checked in an hour ago. You worry too much.”

Brandt’s steps faltered and Hunley chuckled. “Nothing important, really, or I would have mentioned it earlier. Guess I should know better.”

“Sir,” Brandt muttered, fairly certain he had never been this embarrassed in his life.

“Maybe we can make it standard protocol,” Hunley mused. “All of Hunt’s communications are routed immediately to you.” He laughed again and continued back to his office on his own, leaving Brandt standing awkwardly in the corridor, his face burning.

At least he wasn’t thinking about Ilsa anymore, he supposed.

Hunley had sent him everything from Ethan so Brandt used that to occupy himself for most of the rest of the day. He picked up some takeout on his drive home, not even entirely certain Ilsa would still be at his house, but hoping she was. He had tried to… gently suggest that it might not be the best idea for her to wander around DC on her own, but he also knew that she would know what was best for herself.

When Brandt walked inside, Ilsa’s shoes were by the door. He took a moment to acknowledge that he was relieved and then moved on.

“Honey, I’m home,” he called out, both wanting to make sure she knew he was back and hoping it might make her laugh. “I come bearing Chinese.”

Ilsa met him in the hall, smiling a tad mischievously. “You didn’t trust me to have dinner waiting for you?”

“Considering I know what’s in my fridge currently, I would have been amazed if you had.”

“You really need to go grocery shopping,” she agreed. “I can do it tomorrow for you if you like.”

Startled, Brandt said, “You really don’t have to do that.”

“It would be nice to have something to do.” Ilsa took one of the bags from Brandt. “Did you buy everything on the menu?”

“Wasn’t sure what you liked,” he admitted. He took some plates out of the kitchen and they headed to the dining room. Brandt took his jacket off to hang over the back of his chair while Ilsa began inspecting the cartons.

She took an egg roll as soon as she found them and eyed Brandt. “Are you going to roll up your sleeves? You know how much I enjoy that.”

Brandt couldn’t stop his immediate blush, which made him feel ridiculous. “I don’t want to give you such an easy way to objectify me so quickly. I think you should have to work for it.”

“Oh, I can objectify you with your sleeves down as well.” The way Ilsa tracked her gaze over him was deliberate and over the top.

Brandt sat down to give her less of a view but he was smiling. They talked about nothing much in particular while they ate, though Brandt did tell Ilsa that Ethan had checked in. He thought maybe she would want to know; maybe she worried about Ethan, too.

It wasn’t until after they had cleaned up and were sitting in the living room that Brandt said, “Do you want to tell me what you need my help with?”

Ilsa watched him, calm and careful. The she said, “The problem Ethan helped me fix, those men who came after me. It’s more than just them. I have a name, but I don’t have the resources to find him. I know it’s not fair to ask you to use your place at IMF to help me but—”

“You can ask me,” Brandt interrupted. “I’ll look into it.”

She looked at him like she didn’t quite believe him, like she didn’t think it could be so easy. Brandt slid closer beside her on the couch, until they were almost touching.

“It’s already done,” he told her, holding her gaze, and her smile was small and warm.

-

The first name Ilsa gave Brandt was former British intelligence, presumed dead in a bombing. Alex Goddard. It took Brandt three days before he found a decent lead, and then another day to follow it to a location.

“Dallas,” Brandt said as Ilsa skimmed through the report he had put together. (Yes, he could admit maybe the written report was overkill but, well. Habit.)

“I’ll need to go there,” Ilsa said. “Recon. I’d like to get a tracker on him, though I’m not certain how feasible that is as he obviously knows what I look like. I need to find out who else is involved and how I can take care of it.”

“I thought you’d say that. It isn’t a long trip but I’m not sure I can get away at the moment.”

Ilsa’s eyes were soft. “I wasn’t expecting you to. I can go on my own.”

Brandt blinked at her. “You can what?”

“It’s simple surveillance, Will. I’ll do it alone.”

“You came to me for help!”

“I did, and you have helped. Will, you have to trust me. I can handle this.”

Brandt took a breath, and another, trying to calm, to focus. He had a sudden vision of how this looked, him making demands, insisting Ilsa couldn’t do this. He didn’t like the image presented.

“Ilsa,” he said carefully. “I do trust you. I wouldn’t be happy about sending any agent out in the field alone, with no back-up. I can’t give you IMF resources.” Hunley would never allow it.

“I know,” she said, touching his hand. “But I’m going to do it.”

And Brandt was going to step back and let her. He didn’t have a real argument, not anything that would convince her, only the disquiet in his belly at the idea of her going alone after someone with entirely bad intentions towards her.

Her tone was gentle when she spoke again. “I don’t want this to sound patronizing but I appreciate that you’re concerned. I know it’s because you care. I’m glad to know you care that much about me.”

“Ilsa, of course I do.”

“You worry about Ethan, too.”

It wasn’t a question. Brandt tried not to be embarrassed; he knew Ilsa didn’t mean it to embarrass him. “Apparently enough that Hunley finds it hilarious.”

“And Ethan? What does he think?”

“If I could figure out what Ethan thought about anything, I would… Well, it would certainly save me some headaches.”

“But you do think you know what Ethan thinks about at least something.”

Brandt frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You told me, in France. You told me he didn’t want the sort of relationship that you want.” Ilsa let the pause stretch until it was heavy and uncomfortable. “But I don’t think you really know that. I think you assume you do.”

“Ethan is in love with his dead wife, and maybe he’s a little bit in love with you. At least he finds you fascinating. But me…” Brandt shrugged. “That’s just not on the table.”

Ilsa didn’t respond to that. Brandt felt somewhat like a specimen beneath a microscope as she stared at him and it made him want to speak again, to fill the silence, to break her disconcerting concentration. She had said it, in France; she didn’t know how Ethan was with Brandt. She didn’t know that they were only friends, that Ethan didn’t look at him the way Brandt wished he would, that hoping for anything else was delusional. There was nothing beneath it when Ethan touched him; Ethan’s pulse didn’t speed up when they got close.

And it was fine. Brandt would get over this thing he had for Ethan eventually, or he wouldn’t, but it would get easier to live with it.  

While he was still trying to think of something to fill the silence with, Ilsa had scooted closer to him on the couch. Her hand was on his knee and she was leaning in before Brandt could react; she kissed him with intent but soft enough that he could have easily broken it off before it was much more than a brush of their lips. He didn’t, though; after a moment of shock he pressed in. He put his hand to her shoulder and let the kiss deepen.

When Ilsa settled back, she said, “I wanted to do that. Like I wanted you in France.”

“Yeah, I… I kind of got that impression when you propositioned me.”

“I thought it seemed like you weren’t certain people might want you. Thought I should remind you what it looks like.”

Brandt snorted a laugh into the air between them. “I know what it looks like. I’ve had relationships. I’ve done enough honeypot missions to know I’m not exactly unattractive.”

“Well,” Ilsa said, stroking her fingers through the hair at the nape of Brandt’s neck, “like I said. I wanted to give you the reminder.”

“Just because Ethan doesn’t want me doesn’t mean I think I’m undesirable.”

She was just gazing at him, something in her expression reminding him of a patient teacher with a student who simply wasn’t getting it. “I don’t think you would even know if Ethan wanted you. Maybe you’re right and he doesn’t, he never will. But you’ve made up your mind so completely that the possibility he could, or that he might in the future, isn’t even an option for you. I don’t think that’s fair.”

“I don’t think it’s useful to hang onto hope for things that won’t happen.”

“All right,” Ilsa said, seeming to concede the matter, though Brandt didn’t think she was actually convinced of his stance. She kissed his cheek and stood up; Brandt followed.

“It’s just…” He stopped, watched her turn her gaze to him. “Ethan is charming. Magnetic. You know he is. He can’t not be that person. So I… I spent a lot of time with him when I was part of his field team and sometimes that was hard, having that directed at me when I knew he didn’t really mean anything by it. I had a crush. The crush didn’t actually go away; it got worse when I got to know him better. But I got better at accepting Ethan’s base level of harmless flirtation. I can live with it meaning nothing.”

“Okay,” Ilsa said, but she sounded so sad. She brushed her fingers against Brandt’s wrist and they left it at that.

-

Brandt thought it might be awkward when they went to bed that night, still sharing, after Ilsa kissed him. He didn’t think she had kissed him with any intention towards something more so he approached his bedtime ritual the same as he had every evening since Ilsa arrived, and went to bed on his side just as he had been. Ilsa lay down on hers and wished him goodnight, and it wasn’t awkward. They lay close but not touching and it was comfortable.

As Brandt lay there in the darkness, however, listening to Ilsa’s even breathing, he admitted to himself that he maybe, possibly, had a bit of a crush. He wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, or what he wanted to do about it. Maybe it would fade swiftly; maybe it was only the proximity, and Ilsa’s trust in him. Maybe it was only because they had connected, and he was lonely, and neither of them could have Ethan.

But he let himself acknowledge it in the quiet of his own mind and let the simple fact of it settle there. He had a crush on Ilsa Faust.

Well, he thought, at least he was keeping to high standards.

Chapter Text

Ilsa left for Dallas. Brandt got more practice at focusing on work so he wouldn’t think about her. His bed felt strangely large and empty without her and his house too quiet.

God. He really had been lonely.

He wished he could call someone but Ethan was still gone, Benji was with Ethan, and Luther was on his own op. Brandt had never been that friendly with Jane outside of the team and had lost touch with her; he thought she was still in New Zealand on an extended op anyway. It was a bit unfortunate that he didn’t have non-IMF friends – the secrecy and lying had always made that seem more trouble than it was worth, in Brandt’s opinion— and while he was friendly enough with some of the other analysts, they weren’t really on ‘have a beer and talk about our lives’ terms. Being someone’s boss always made things a tad awkward.

He actually briefly considered heading to a bar and taking his chances, but once the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it as entirely unappealing. That was probably… bad. Historically, the more he was caught up in feelings about Ethan the less he had wanted to indulge in anything casual (or not casual, for that matter) with other people. He wasn’t certain now if it was Ethan or Ilsa (or both, maybe, which was an unfortunate turn of events he was not going to think about at the moment) who was too much in his head, but the idea of taking someone else home or even just harmlessly flirting was even less attractive than sitting on his couch alone and moping.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and checked his cabinets for alcohol.

-

He woke too early, well before his alarm. He made coffee and sat on his back porch, watching the birds flit about. His sleep had been restless but he felt himself relax as he sat, not thinking about anything but the squirrels running away with peanuts, the red-bellied woodpecker he could hear chirping in the trees above, the chickadee swooping in to grab a sunflower seed.

Brandt felt more settled after he finished his coffee, pleasantly calm as he showered and dressed for work. He sat with Hunley in a meeting that went until lunch and as they exited, Hunley said, “I forwarded a gift to your email.”

Brandt glanced at him askance, eyes narrowed. “A gift I want?”

“Oh, I’m certain you’ll want it.” He clasped Brandt’s shoulder briefly as they parted ways, Hunley to his office and Brandt continuing farther down the hall to his.

That sounded suspiciously like this was going to be about Ethan and Hunley thought he was being funny. The ‘gift’ proved him correct, as it was Ethan making a final check-in. Barring any last minute excitement – which, considering Ethan, definitely couldn’t be ruled out – Ethan would be finishing up and back in DC within a few days. That was… good, he thought. Hopefully Ilsa would be back by then, as well.

And because Brandt was calm and focused and not panicking, he knew that was true. No need to worry. 

-

Ilsa texted him on Thursday afternoon. I’m headed to the airport. Back soon.

Brandt immediately felt lighter. Text me when you know what time your flight is getting in. I’ll pick you up.

He thought maybe she would refuse, but after a few minutes she sent back, All right. Thank you.

-

At arrivals, Brandt hopped out of his car to meet Ilsa, where she stood in a leather jacket with her small bag. She didn’t actually need help with the bag, he knew, but it was more that he desperately wanted to hug her and didn’t want to wait for the entire drive. She was hesitant at first, like she was surprised when he put his arms around her, but she accepted it after a moment, holding him back. Brandt breathed in the sweet smell of her hair for as long as he dared before drawing back to toss her bag into the car.

“Let’s go,” he said. “I think everyone’s about to start honking and swearing at me for taking up a spot.”

They didn’t talk much on the drive; Brandt wanted to know the details of her little private op but it somehow didn’t feel right to ask in the car. He was eased enough by the notion that she was back, that she was sitting beside him, whole and unharmed. He did tell her that Ethan would be in DC soon, which she heard with a nod and a small smile.

Ethan would be in DC and so would Ilsa. Ethan was going to see Ilsa. Brandt wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to feel about that. He knew that Ethan’s feelings towards Ilsa were complicated and Brandt’s own emotions about the entire situation got more complicated by the day. It wasn’t only what Ethan felt for Ilsa or what Brandt felt for Ethan anymore, it was what Brandt felt for Ilsa, and his own questions about what Ilsa wanted or didn’t want from him, and what she wanted from Ethan.

But he would deal with that later. For now he only wanted to focus on Ilsa’s trip, and what they needed to do from here.

When they arrived home, Ilsa said she wanted to take a quick shower so she vanished upstairs. Brandt made tea in the meantime, so when Ilsa emerged dressed in leggings and a t-shirt, her hair twisted into a damp knot at the back of her head, he presented her with a warm mug.

She accepted gratefully and they sat together in the living room, side by side on the couch.

“Did you accomplish what you’d hoped?” Brandt asked.

Ilsa touched Brandt’s thigh briefly through his pants. “I’m shocked you waited so long to ask me that. But yes, I did. I have a few more names and faces for you, if you wouldn’t mind.” After Brandt nodded at her, she continued, “He’s recruiting scientists, working on something biological, I think. I’m not certain how I fit into it. But I got a tracker onto Goddard so we can see where he heads next.”

A tracker. On a man with intentions to kill her. “Ilsa. Do I want to know what kinds of risks you took to do that?”

“I don’t think you do.”

“God,” Brandt said, running his hand through his hair. “It’s just like being friends with Ethan. You’re going to put me in an early grave.”

“Well,” she said, her smile gentle and yet a bit impish, “at least you know we’re both very good. Doesn’t that help?”

“Not when you’re approaching someone you know has designs to kill you! With no back-up!”

“Even you wouldn’t have recognized me. And I was very quick.”

“Great. You were quick. I feel so much better about it.”

Ilsa pressed her hand to Brandt’s heart. “It’s all right, Will. I’m fine.”

He focused on the sensation of her palm, imagining the thudding of his heart slowing to a steadier pace. “Fine. Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t have done it if I thought the risk wasn’t worth it, and if I didn’t think it would work.”

Brandt nodded. “Right.” He believed her, he did. He just didn’t like the feeling of knowing what could have happened if she had been wrong, and knowing that he wouldn’t have been there to help her.

That was it, really. He hated feeling useless. It was why Ethan’s dramatics bothered him more now than when he had been in the field. Now all he could do was find out about it later; there wasn’t anything he could do for Ethan if his plans backfired.

Ilsa moved her hand, reaching up to smooth his hair back into place. “That’s better,” she said, drawing her lip briefly between her teeth.

Brandt tracked the motion, his eyes dropping to her mouth. He felt too warm and wished he hadn’t had the tea. Get a hold of yourself, Will, he thought furiously to himself. He couldn’t help that he had a crush; it was just a thing that happened, sometimes, totally normal. Especially when your friends looked like Ilsa Faust and were essentially trained to be charismatic. But he could stop reading into everything Ilsa did and he could not be a weirdo about it.

Unless, of course, Ilsa wanted him to –

But Ilsa would rather be with Ethan, surely. Ethan was the one she had wanted to leave with. Brandt was the one she had fucked but it hadn’t meant anything, and when she kissed him before Dallas that was… that was a friendly thing, right, and…

Fuck.

“You look tired,” Brandt said, pushing everything else from his mind. “You should get some rest.”

“Probably a good idea,” Ilsa agreed. She stood from the couch, stretching, and Brandt made himself look away when the edge of her shirt rode up over her flat stomach. “Good night.” She brushed her hand over Brandt’s shoulder.

“Good night.” Brandt stayed there on the couch, pulling his laptop over, until long after he would normally have gone to bed. He avoided looking at Ilsa when he finally crept into his bedroom, deliberately turning away from her when he lay down.

You’re really fucked, he told himself, and took a long time to fall asleep.

-

Though Brandt made a start on Ilsa’s new list of names and the photos that went with them, he didn’t get far as Hunley needed him to put out a fire (missing drones) and then another one (an agent in Madrid who had only been going after financial records but stumbled on a trail leading to a hired assassin, targeting an official that IMF definitely didn’t want assassinated). He was exhausted by the end of the day, leaving two hours later than he had wanted to, which of course was when Ethan texted him.

I’ll be in DC in an hour. Hunley said I can leave my onsite debrief until Monday. Can I come see you?

Exhaustion warred with anticipation and maybe a bit of trepidation in Brandt’s head. It was Ethan, though, so of course he replied, You know where to find me.

On his drive home, he wondered if he ought to tell Ethan that Ilsa would be there, as well. Should he give Ethan a head’s up? Did he need one? Ultimately Brandt decided it would just cause more questions than answers and it wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have via text.

He found Ilsa sitting at the dining room table with her computer. She smiled at him and said, “Goddard is still in Dallas. In case you were wondering.”

She was wearing a hoodie that Brandt recognized as his. It said ‘I love dinosaurs’ with a cartoon drawing of some birds. Brandt couldn’t decide if he was humiliated that she had found that or if he was turned on by the fact that she was wearing his clothes. Goddamn it. Fuck.

He decided to just ignore it. “Ethan is on his way.”

Ilsa infinitesimally straightened to attention. She looked at Brandt. “Would you like me to leave?”

“What? No! Of course I don’t want you to leave.” Why would she think that?

“I don’t want to make things complicated for you.”

Brandt couldn’t help his laugh. “It’s not going to become less complicated if you leave. I told you I wouldn’t lie to Ethan.”

“I know. I just thought it might be easier for you to speak to him on your own.”

“No. Let’s just rip that band-aid right off.”

Ilsa’s expression eased and Brandt realized she had genuinely thought he wouldn’t want her here. He pulled out a chair to sit across the corner of the table from her.

“You’re my friend,” he said, “and so is Ethan. We’re all going to work on this together, and we’re going to make sure you’re safe.”

Ilsa stretched her hand on top of the table. Brandt clasped it, squeezing her palm, before letting go and standing back up.

“All right. Let’s see what we can scrounge up around here for food.”

Following him into the kitchen, Ilsa said, “You didn’t do much shopping while I was gone.” She sounded reproachful.

“Didn’t do much cooking either,” he agreed. He pulled open the door to the fridge and frowned at the contents. He peered at a package of chicken thighs and checked the date; he sniffed them to be sure. “Okay, well, these are still good. I should have some rice, I think.” In the freezer he found a bag of frozen corn. “It won’t be gourmet but it’ll do.”

Ilsa refrained from commenting on his poor shopping habits again though she was still giving him that look like she was judging him; she reminded him of his mother, who had always been disparaging that he would die of malnutrition because he didn’t eat properly. His mother had been under the impression that he had a normal nine to five so she had never understood why he couldn’t make the time, especially given that she knew he had “fancy tastes”, as she had always called it, and he could always be relied upon to bring something overly complicated when he showed up for holidays.

(Maybe it was time to pull out one of his better recipes, once he went shopping, Brandt thought, if only to see how much he could surprise Ilsa. If she ended up impressed, all the better, he figured.)

Brandt browned the chicken in a pan on the stove while Ilsa got the rice started, and then he moved the chicken into the oven to finish. He had placed the corn into the microwave to steam just as his doorbell rang.

“Ethan, I assume,” he said, and left Ilsa to handle the kitchen while he went to get the door.

Ethan was in fact standing outside on the stoop, a duffel bag over his shoulder. Brandt was faintly embarrassed by the way his heart jumped at the sight of him, Ethan’s easy grin and warm eyes.

“Hey,” he said. “I hope I’m not disturbing your evening.”

“No, I was just making dinner,” Brandt said as he ushered Ethan inside. “You want to eat?”

“Sure.” Ethan dropped his bag in the hallway and took his shoes off. “Did you just get home?” He tugged on Brandt’s tie.

Brandt shrugged. “Bit of a long day.”

“I can go, if you want to—”

“No,” Brandt insisted. “I’m happy you’re here.” That was true, at least. Can I come see you? Ethan had asked, like that was the first thing he wanted to do in DC, like seeing Brandt was important to him.

Ethan’s smile was almost shy, and then he turned at the sound of footsteps at the end of the hall. His eyes widened at the sight of Ilsa.

“Hi, Ethan,” she said, still wearing Brandt’s stupid hoodie. “Dinner’s ready?”

Ethan stared at Brandt. “Do you… Were you going to mention Ilsa’s here?”

“Ilsa’s here,” Brandt said. “Uh… We have some things to talk about.”

“I bet,” Ethan said dryly, and walked towards Ilsa. He stood in front of her for a second before reaching out tentatively. Ilsa embraced him.

“It’s good to see you, Ethan,” Brandt heard Ilsa say quietly, and then Ethan’s murmured, “Yeah. You, too.”

Ilsa met Brandt’s eyes over Ethan’s shoulder and he dipped his head, so Ilsa led Ethan into the dining room. Brandt waited in the entranceway, taking a few deep breaths, before he went after them. He paused in the kitchen but Ilsa must have already brought the food into the other room.

Ethan and Ilsa were seated at the table, Ilsa passing plates around. Ethan looked up at Brandt when he walked in and Brandt refused to feel uncomfortable in his own home. He sat down and took the plate Ilsa handed him. They served the food in slightly awkward silence.

Finally Ethan said, “This is good. Thanks.”

“Will didn’t have much in his fridge that’s edible but he’s good at making do,” Ilsa said.

Ethan’s gaze turned sharp. “Will? You two are on a first name basis now?”

“My friends do generally call me Will.” When Ethan looked wounded by that, Brandt added, “I never stopped you. You’re the one who kept calling me Brandt.”

Ethan didn’t say anything but he was looking intently at Ilsa’s hoodie. He looked back at Brandt, raising his eyebrow.

Brandt focused on eating. What did he care what Ethan thought, what conclusions Ethan drew? Maybe Ethan had already assumed they fucked in France, so now he could think they were doing it regularly, he could think Ilsa was his girlfriend, Ilsa was moving in, what the fuck did it matter?

His fork clattered loudly against his plate as he stabbed too viciously, actually knocking rice onto the table. Now both of them were staring at him. Brandt put his fork down and dropped his forehead onto his hand. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Like I said. Long day.”

“Excuse me just a moment,” Ilsa said, getting up. She vanished into another room.

“You could have told me it was a bad time,” Ethan said.

“It’s not a bad time, Ethan,” Brandt said, aware his voice was pitching up in volume.

Ilsa reappeared with three glasses and a bottle of whiskey, a lot emptier than it had been before Ilsa left for Dallas. She silently poured three generous measures and handed them out.

“I thought something stronger than tea was in order,” she said as she offered a glass to Brandt. Their fingers brushed. Brandt tried to communicate his gratitude with his eyes.

She smiled at him before she sat back down with her own glass.

Brandt emptied his whiskey in one go. Ethan was staring at him again but now the corner of his mouth was twitching upwards. Ilsa pushed the bottle across the table towards him.

He poured himself another glass and drained that one, too. “So, here’s the thing,” he said, feeling fortified and alcohol-brave. “Ilsa has been staying here because she asked for my help. We’re monitoring another former Syndicate asshole who thinks taking her out of the picture will win him something. Now you’re here, Ethan, so you can get in on this, too.”

As he spoke, Brandt could see Ethan relaxing. Whatever he had thought was happening, now he knew there was someone he cared about who needed him, so that settled him. “What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing, at the moment,” Ilsa said. “Will and I are gathering intel. I’m tracking him. When he moves, then perhaps you can assist me in going after him?”

“Done,” Ethan said immediately. “I’m due at least some time from IMF after this last mission.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry your break won’t actually be much of a break.”

“Oh, you know me,” Ethan said with a flash of that grin Brandt loved so much. “I’m much happier when there’s an adventure to be had.”

It was easier, after that. They finished their meal with light chatter and laughter, and Brandt stopped feeling so much like he was about to suffocate from anxiety. Ethan regaled them with a few stories about his escapades during his last mission, which in true Ethan form, had necessitated quite a few more stunts than Brandt would have thought from the mission file he had put together.

The three of them cleaned up together, an oddly domestic tableau that Brandt couldn’t have imagined, Ilsa washing dishes as Ethan dried them and Brandt cleaned the table and the counters. He tried not to think about it too much because if he did, it made him want things he didn’t think were his to want.

After, Ethan retrieved his jacket, looking from Ilsa to Brandt. “I’d better head out.”

Brandt wasn’t certain what urge made him say, “You want to stay the night?”

Ethan’s eyes widened and Ilsa was simply standing there, as though waiting out the scene. Brandt resisted the desire to fidget, stopped himself from blurting out about the available couch. Available because Ilsa had been sharing his bed.

Finally with a small shrug of his shoulders and a look Brandt almost thought he could call wistful, Ethan said, “Three’s a crowd, don’t you think?”

“Ethan, it’s not what you think.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think, does it?” Yes. That expression was definitely wistful. “Have a good night.” Ethan walked through the kitchen and let himself out.

Brandt stared after him in silence. He listened to the door close. Ilsa was still just standing by the counter, but he could feel her gaze on him.

He turned to walk into the dining room. He hadn’t moved the whiskey, though the glasses had been cleaned. He eyed the bottle; there was hardly any left, anyway. He took a swallow straight from the bottle.

“Will,” Ilsa said, her tone cautious.

“Ethan thinks we’re sleeping together.” Brandt finished the whiskey. He left it on the table.

“We did sleep together.”

“Yes, but… he thinks we’re doing it now. Regularly.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No!”

“Then why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset!”

Ilsa arched an eyebrow.

Brandt sank down into a chair. “I’m not, I’m… Fuck. I don’t know.”

“Will you talk to me, Will? I only want to… understand what’s in your head.”

Brandt thought he probably owed her at least that much. “Yeah. Of course.”

“You clearly care that Ethan appears to be the under the impression that we’re pursuing something romantically. Will you tell me why that is? You said that you know Ethan will never want you the way you wish he would, so why does it bother you if he believes you’ve found someone? Or is it only that you don’t want him to think you’re with me?”

“Oh, Ilsa, no,” Brandt said, appalled. “God, no. I would be lucky to have you, I would be fucking honored, if that were true.”

“All right,” Ilsa said, smiling a bit now. “Don’t oversell it.”

“Dramatics aside, I mean that. I do. I…” Brandt swallowed, feeling like his mouth was too dry, the words catching in his throat.

Ilsa leaned in and kissed him, sweetly. “I think we would be good together,” she said softly, resting her forehead against Brandt’s. “I would be lucky to have you, too. But I’m not sure that’s what you want. Not completely.” She pulled back, looking in his eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I want Ethan,” Brandt confessed. “I… I guess you get it now that I want you, too, and I’m not… I just… I look at Ethan and my heart skips, and I can’t let go of how much I wish he would want me that way. That’s not fair to you. I’m not sure it’s fair to me, either.”

He had told Ilsa that he could live with Ethan’s flirtations meaning nothing, and he could. But he supposed he hadn’t yet reached the point where he could give himself to someone else and have it be true. If he could do it with anyone, he thought it would be Ilsa. He wanted it to be. But he wasn’t ready.

“I understand,” Ilsa said, and Brandt knew she did. “I asked him the wrong question. I realize that now. I should have asked if I could stay.”

“Do you think his answer would have been different?”

“We’ll never know, will we?”

“You could ask him now.” Brandt forced his expression into blankness; if he pretended he didn’t care, then maybe he wouldn’t.

“Will,” Ilsa said, and her tone could have cracked his heart. “Do you think I would be so cruel to you?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t use me as an excuse. You think I’m so selfish that I don’t want you to be happy, if you have the chance? That I don’t want Ethan to be happy?” Brandt had never fooled himself into thinking that he had any role in Ethan’s happiness. He wouldn’t start now.

Ilsa squeezed his hand, bringing it to her lips, kissing his knuckles. “Maybe I’m not sure what I want anymore, if it doesn’t include you, too.”  

“Ilsa,” Brandt said, the word just short of a gasp, unable to think of anything else to say. He tugged his hand in hers and she moved with it; she sat onto his lap in the chair, perched on his thigh. He dragged the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “I guess we failed at casual sex,” he said.

When Ilsa laughed, it made Brandt’s heart swell. “It seems we did,” she agreed. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No,” Brandt said. “I don’t think it is.”

They met in a kiss, a little bit desperate, Ilsa’s hands in his hair. Their breathing was quick and heavy when they parted, Ilsa leaning her forehead down to touch his.

“I’m not sure where this leaves us,” she said.

“Me, neither.” Brandt slid his arm around her waist and they sat together for a long time, the silence not quite easy, but not quite uncomfortable either.

-

During the night, they gravitated towards each other, so Brandt woke with Ilsa’s hair in his face and his arm numb where it was stuck beneath her. It made him feel oddly content in a way he couldn’t remember feeling, not for some time.

“Good morning,” Ilsa mumbled, as Brandt extricated his arm.

“Good morning,” he said, trying not to smile at how messy her hair looked. He wanted to kiss her but he also wasn’t sure that was something they should be doing.

In a way, their conversation last night had felt freeing, but he also thought perhaps he was only more confused about where they went from here. He couldn’t be in a relationship with Ilsa, not now, not one that was fair in the way she deserved, but he didn’t not want to be in a relationship with her.

There was just an Ethan-shaped question mark in the center of everything. Brandt knew he wasn’t over him, and Ilsa didn’t seem to be either, and he wasn’t certain trying to pursue a relationship when both of those things were true was a good idea. No, he knew it wasn’t.

But he cared for her, and he wanted her, even as he felt those things for Ethan.

“Let’s go out,” Ilsa said.

“Out?”

“Yes. Let’s do something fun. Do you want to?”

This time Brandt didn’t fight his smile. “Yeah. I do.”

-

Ilsa wanted Brandt to choose something for them to do and suggested he surprise her. When he took her to the International Spy Museum, her face lit up brilliantly, her laugh the sweetest sound Brandt had ever heard. She slipped her hand into his as they walked.

“I came here once with Benji,” Brandt said. “It’s actually pretty cool, from a historical standpoint.”

“From a historical standpoint, of course,” Ilsa said, bumping her shoulder against his. A couple of kids sped past them, one of them shouting about James Bond.

“I guess there’s other reasons it’s fun,” he said with a grin.

“Oh, look,” she said, pulling him towards what looked like the start of an undercover game. They hadn’t had that when he’d come with Benji; Benji would have been all over it. “Will, do you have what it takes to be a spy?”

“I’m a tax consultant,” he said dryly, “so I doubt it.” That was what he had always told his family, anyway.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” she said, and tugged him in after a group of children. She accepted two mission badges and circled one of the lanyards around Brandt’s neck.

“Miles Edwards,” Brandt said, when his cover identity appeared on the screen. “Miles? I don’t think I look like a Miles.”

Ilsa mock gasped. “You can’t announce your identity! You’re a terrible spy.”

“We’ll see whose scores are better in the end.” He saw the glint in Ilsa’s eyes and knew she had accepted his challenge.

The game was spread out through the exhibits, little challenges to accomplish in order to complete their missions (Brandt was tracking a terrorist, apparently), so he and Ilsa wandered through together. It was a bit odd to occasionally recognize some of the displays as things IMF had been involved in, though there wasn’t anything from Brandt’s time. He wondered what the museum would look like in five years, ten, fifteen, twenty, if he could come back as an old man and look at things Ethan had done.

He had to build a disguise for Miles so he gave himself longer hair and a goatee, which Ilsa examined on the screen from over his shoulder and pronounced not bad.

“You should grow your hair out,” she suggested.

“Absolutely not.” He added a pair of glasses.

“Hot,” Ilsa said as she moved on, dragging her hand over Brandt’s waist as she went. He definitely didn’t blush.

He did, however, smack her shoulder when she bumped into him while he was trying to answer questions about his cover identity. “Oh my God, you cheater,” he exclaimed. “You must really be intimidated by my superior skills to resort to such underhanded tricks.”

She grinned at him. “Part of spying is using whatever you can to accomplish your mission, isn’t it? Just taking care of my competition.”

“You’re so threatened by me,” he insisted. “You just don’t want to be embarrassed when I get recruited because of this.”

“I wouldn’t give up tax consulting, if I were you. I’d imagine it pays better.”

“Less risk of death, for sure.”

They smiled at each other and continued on through the museum. In the end, Ilsa did score better, but since her results hadn’t been deliberately sabotaged, Brandt pronounced the entire exercise invalid. Ilsa called him a sore loser but told him he could choose where they ate in compensation.

All in all, it was the most fun Brandt had had in a long time.

“We should bring Ethan,” Ilsa said as they walked. “He would get a kick out of that place.”

“He’d probably drive off in the Bond car. We’d end up in jail.”

“You think the DC police could catch Ethan in a car?”

Brandt laughed and conceded the point. The idea of the three of them spending a day like this together was so appealing that it felt like a dream. That was what Brandt wanted, he knew. Ethan, but with Ilsa, too. He wished he could believe it was anything more than an idle fantasy.

As it was, he slipped his arm around Ilsa’s waist and was happy enough to be in her company.

-

Sunday was much less enjoyable, as Brandt ended up going in to work for a significant chunk of the day. Ilsa went grocery shopping while he was gone and cooked, and Brandt was so embarrassingly touched by her thoughtfulness that he almost couldn’t thank her.

He didn’t sleep well that night, as he kept remembering Ethan saying he would have his full debrief on Monday so he would be onsite. Brandt thought they probably needed to talk. He just wasn’t sure what to say.

Before he left, Ilsa said, “Say hello to Ethan for me.”

He gave her a tight smile. “See you later.”

Brandt didn’t see Ethan all morning. He focused on other things so he wouldn’t think about Ethan at all, and just before lunch he headed into Hunley’s office.

“I’d like to request some time off,” he said. “Two weeks. I have something I need to take care of.” That should be long enough for Ilsa’s Goddard problem, he hoped. Wherever he ended up, this time Brandt was coming, too.

Whatever reaction Brandt might have expected, it certainly wasn’t the sight of Hunley’s broad grin. “How strange. Agent Hunt was just in here, making the same request. You wouldn’t have the same thing to take care of, would you?”

“Respectfully, sir, I don’t need to answer that.”

Now Hunley laughed. “I’ve always admired your ability to seem impertinent while being perfectly polite. Take your time off, Brandt. You always earn it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Brandt said, and couldn’t help the small smirk he flashed at Hunley. It only made Hunley grin again.

Ethan was waiting in his office when he returned, shifting the papers on the desk around.

“Hi,” Brandt said, and Ethan turned around to look at him. “If you put anything out of order, I’m gonna be upset.”

Grinning, Ethan said, “I know you well enough to know you’d kick my ass if I messed up your desk. I moved nothing, I promise.”

“Hmm.” Brandt walked until he could sit down in his chair and made a show of checking. “I guess you’re fine. This time.”

“Fine and medically cleared! And officially on leave. Hunley agreed.”

“Yeah, I just came from him. I asked for a couple of weeks, too.”

“You did?”

“Can’t let you have all the fun. Ilsa says hello, by the way.”

Ethan’s expression shadowed a bit. “Uh. About Ilsa.”

Great. They were going to talk. Between him and Ethan, this conversation had a lot of potential to stall.

“I just… I don’t want you to think…” Ethan hesitating was always a bad sign. “I’m… happy for you.”

Brandt frowned. “You’re happy for me?”

“You and Ilsa. You deserve it. You both do. You’re… I know how hard you work, and I know that you spend a lot of time making sure I’m okay, even when I don’t want you to.” Ethan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck ruefully. “It’s good that you have something for yourself. Ilsa is… wonderful, and I’m happy you found each other, and—”

“Ethan.”

“It makes sense, now, how good you seemed after France. You had been so tense and suddenly you weren’t. And I get now, too, why you didn’t say anything to me about seeing her. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

“Ethan, will you just listen to me?” Brandt burst out with, feeling more and more uncomfortable the longer Ethan went on. “Whatever you’re imagining, that’s not how it is.”

Ethan cocked his head to the side. “You haven’t slept with Ilsa?”

“No, I have, but it’s not… we’re not… She came to me as a friend.”

“And you’re definitely not in love with her, not even a little bit.”

Brandt bit his lip. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Brandt… Will,” Ethan said, tentatively, like he still wasn’t certain he could use Brandt’s name; he couldn’t know how Brandt’s heart fluttered at the sound of it. “You don’t have to justify anything to me. I’m not your keeper, and I’m not Ilsa’s, either. I don’t have any claim over her, and I don’t have any claim over you. We’re friends. And if you make each other happy, in whatever complicated scenario is going on between you, then I’m happy.”

Brandt’s brain had gotten stuck on Ethan saying, I don’t have any claim over you. Because why would he say that? Why would he feel the need to, if he only thought Brandt was feeling guilty about Ilsa because of Ethan’s feelings for her? What did he mean by it?

There was a strange flicker of hope springing to life inside of him where it had never before existed. Maybe Ethan… Maybe it was possible…

But Ethan was walking towards the door, clearly thinking that was the end of the conversation. Brandt jolted forward, almost stumbling into his desk in his haste. “Ethan, wait,” he said, grabbing Ethan’s elbow.

Ethan stopped, some trace of emotion flashing in his eyes that Brandt couldn’t begin to parse. He rested his opposite hand over Brandt’s at his elbow. “I’ll see you both soon,” he said, and when he moved, Brandt let go.

-

Brandt was mostly silent through dinner with Ilsa. She clearly could tell something was on his mind but she didn’t push, just waited for Brandt to be ready to share with her, or not.

“What if,” he said finally, as they stood in the kitchen with their plates, “Ethan might not be as disinterested in me as I thought?”

Ilsa blinked at him, then carefully tugged the plate he was still holding out of his grip to place on the counter. “What makes you say that? Did something happen today?”

“Not in so many words. I mean, we talked, though it was mostly Ethan going on rather horrifyingly about how happy he was for us, but then he said…” God, it sounded so silly now that Brandt was about to say it out loud. He was only jumping to conclusions, based on meager intel. “He said he didn’t have any claim over you and then he said he didn’t have any claim over me, either.”

Ilsa kept watching him. She didn’t say anything.

“It’s dumb, right? I’m reading into it. I’m attributing emotions to something that didn’t mean anything.”

But Ilsa had a calculating look on her face, like she was intently trying to figure this out. “The context?”

So Brandt told her everything, as best as he could recall – and Brandt had an excellent memory.

Ilsa crossed her arms, leaning back against the counter. “It’s possible he didn’t mean anything by it,” she said, making Brandt’s heart sink with a thud, “but I think it’s… odd that he said it at all. It isn’t really relevant, if you’re his friend and he thinks you’re in love with me, someone you believe him to have feelings for.”

Brandt felt choked with the idea that maybe it was possible, maybe Ethan could…

“I watched you for a bit,” Ilsa continued. “The night he was here, before I called you for dinner. Like I told you, I’ve never seen you together. I was curious. My impression was that most men don’t look at their friends quite the way he looks at you, or stand quite so close.”

“Ilsa,” Brandt said, feeling like he was being strangled, “don’t…”

“I’m not trying to give you false hope,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. “I’m not. And it’s true that I have a vested interest in this. If Ethan could feel for you, for me, for both of us, the way you want him to, that’s an ideal outcome for me.”

When Ilsa said it, out loud, the thing that Brandt could barely admit to himself that he wanted, it felt real for the first time. Like something he didn’t need to feel ashamed of, like something that wasn’t only an impossible fantasy.

“All I’m saying,” Ilsa said, “is that it’s possible.”

“So the next time I see him, I should say, hey, Ethan, how would you feel about a threesome with Ilsa and me.”

Ilsa laughed. “I think that would terrify him, so perhaps let’s not be so bold as that.”

More seriously, Brandt said, “Yeah. The thought scares me a little and I already know I’m in love with him. And…” He paused, his eyes on Ilsa’s face.

She moved in towards him, leaning in, tucking her face into his neck. “It’s okay,” she said, the words warm with her breath against his skin. “I think I might be in love with you, too.”

Brandt wrapped his arms behind her back. “You made that seem easy.”

Her voice was bright with affection. “Well, it’s my job to make everything seem easy.”

“You were supposed to say it was easy because I’m so easy to love.”

She laughed against Brandt’s neck and he held her close, thinking that maybe for right now they could just do this, and pretend it would all be easy.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, whatever dialogue they needed to have with Ethan got put on hold because Goddard left Dallas. They tracked him to northern Belarus, where his signal again remained steady.

Belarus it was.

Brandt couldn’t exactly requisition IMF resources for this but he also had high enough clearance and was enough in Hunley’s good graces for there to be some measure of flexibility in that. He found them a safehouse, not much more than a cabin relatively near Goddard’s location, and they had access to some basic supplies: guns, computers, comm devices, et cetera.

Ethan and Brandt were currently sitting at an old wooden table watching the computer feed as Ilsa did some scouting ahead. Ethan had argued rather vehemently that it should be him instead but Ilsa was impressively stubborn.

“It’s a lab,” she said quietly to them over comms. “Whatever Goddard has those scientists working on, they’re doing it here.”

Brandt had been able to find out a little bit about a few of Goddard’s compatriots after Ilsa gave him some names from Dallas. She was most likely correct that they were developing a biological compound of some kind, and given the substances the scientists had been linked to in the past, it didn’t bode well.

“Don’t take any risks,” Ethan told her. “Find out what you can and come back. We’ll go in together.”

Ilsa sounded amused. “Me? Take risks? Who do you take me for?”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “You heard me.”

Brandt switched his comm off so it wouldn’t transmit and Ethan did the same. “Her approach to this job is so much like yours,” Brandt said.

“That must drive you crazy,” Ethan said, nudging him lightly with his elbow.

“One of you was bad enough.”

“You do like to play at being the completely rational one, but I remember which of us jumped out of that window in Dubai,” Ethan pointed out.

“Only after you crashed into the glass with your too short line. You jumped out a window first.”

“Sure, but I’m just saying. You have the same ‘jump out of the window’ impulse that Ilsa and I have. You just don’t indulge it as often.”

“Well, yeah. That’s the point. You don’t always have to jump out of the window, Ethan.”

“But jumping’s fun.”

Ethan’s grin was impossible to resist and Brandt found his lips were twitching upwards. He ducked his head to hide it.

-

Ilsa returned without incident and with a fairly detailed layout of the building Goddard was using as a lab. Security was minimal and Goddard’s group was small, which was definitely a mark in the plus column of this operation. They hashed out a plan, to execute tomorrow evening unless something unforeseen happened in the meantime.

Amenities in the cabin were about what you would expect so the three of them were basically in each others’ pockets. Brandt had lost any true sense of modesty sometime during his training for IMF and any last vestige of it had been wiped out during his time in the field, when sometimes there was nothing to be done but do that quick change from casual to three piece suit and back again in front of your teammates, but nevertheless he couldn’t shake the pangs of awkwardness he felt washing and changing around Ethan. Not so much Ilsa, with whom he felt weirdly comfortable around now, but Ethan made him want to duck into a corner and hide in the shadows.

That, of course, only made him feel more awkward because it was such a juvenile urge. He did his best to cover how he felt and carefully didn’t look at Ethan unless they were both fully clothed.

They slept on rickety cots that creaked and probably would be hell on Brandt’s back. He lay down flat and stared up at the ceiling, trying not to think about Ethan in his undershirt and boxer briefs in the next cot. The cabin was a bit chilly but unfortunately Ethan claimed he got hot at night so underwear it was.

Brandt envied Ilsa’s calm surety. She had watched Ethan strip down with merely a raised eyebrow and a smirk, teasing him about showing off. Ethan had smiled and made a joke about sharing a cot for body heat, in case she got cold. Ilsa had only laughed and suggested he crawl in with Brandt.

Which had resulted in Brandt’s ears heating up and a quick escape beneath his scratchy blankets. Now he was listening to their even breathing and wondering what Ethan’s face had looked like when Ilsa made that comment. He had been too uncomfortable to look, too focused on ignoring their banter and attempting to defuse his nervousness by hiding in his cot.

He had always been able to give as good as he got, with Ethan. Now he… Maybe it was the uncertainty, not knowing where they stood, that made him not know how to behave, that made him cautious and anxious.

They would get through this op, he thought, and then it would be better.

-

Once they got through this fucking op. Brandt’s earpiece was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and grunting as Ilsa tangled with part of Goddard’s team, and the last Brandt had seen of Ethan was him scurrying beneath a table as he got shot at. That left Brandt to try to pin down Goddard, but the bastard was fast and mean. Brandt was trying not to limp but the knife gash to his thigh was bleeding more than was probably good for him.

Brandt ran after Goddard into the otherwise now empty lab but Goddard was ready for him, kicking him right in his bloody thigh. He gasped and crumpled and before he could fully right himself, Goddard grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

“You’re not the one I wanted to use this on but needs must.” He sank a needle into Brandt’s neck, pushing down on the plunger of a syringe.

“Shit,” Brandt exclaimed, stumbling enough to give Goddard an opening to flee. He almost went down but then Ethan was there, grabbing him.

“Will? What did he stick you with?”

“It doesn’t matter, go! Go after him!”

Ethan was frowning but Brandt must have looked okay enough for Ethan to let him go. He turned and ran in the direction Goddard had gone.

Brandt rubbed his hand over his neck and reached out until he found the lab table, leaning onto it. He felt… odd, he supposed. A little woozy, maybe. He needed to sit down.

He thought he was aiming for a chair but somehow he ended up on the floor. That was fine. He squeezed his eyes closed because the sharp lights were hurting his eyes.

“Will?”

There was a hand on his shoulder and then an arm wrapped around him. Brandt forced his eyes open and looked into Ilsa’s face. “You look worried,” he said.

“Are you all right? Why are you on the floor? Where’s Ethan?”

Brandt pointed vaguely towards the door. “Goddard. Went that way. Ethan’s chasing him. He stabbed me.”

“He stabbed you?” Ilsa started patting him all over, looking for wounds. She found the gash on his leg and took off her jacket, pressing hard to slow the bleeding, which had gotten more sluggish by now anyway.

Kicking towards the syringe, Brandt said, “With a needle. Stabbed me with a needle.”

That didn’t do much to alleviate Ilsa’s alarm. She pulled away from him only enough to reach for the syringe, which she carefully tucked away, minding the needle. “You don’t know what it was.”

“He said… he said I wasn’t the one he wanted to use it on.” It was getting harder to think; Brandt’s head pounded. “Ethan is coming back, isn’t he? He’s coming back?” Panic started rising in him, his heart thudding. What if Goddard shot him, or what if he left, what if he decided Brandt was too much effort, and—

“He’s Ethan,” Ilsa said, voice low and soothing. “He always comes back.”

“Shouldn’t have asked him. You shouldn’t be here either; I should’ve come myself, taken care of it myself.”

“What happened to not wanting to send agents out on their own?”

“He wants to kill you. I can’t, I can’t let him hurt you.”

“Will, I’m fine. The only one he hurt is you.”

“I…” Brandt stared wide-eyed into Ilsa’s face. He pawed at her arms, her waist, suddenly unsure that she was actually unharmed. She could be hiding it, trying to protect him, she could be bleeding out and Brandt was just sitting here—

Footsteps sounded on the floor, heavy and rushed. Ethan’s voice said, “I lost him in the woods, I’m sorry.” The footsteps stopped and clothing rustled as Ethan crouched behind Brandt. “Will? Are you good?”

Brandt snaked one hand back so he could clutch at Ethan. “You aren’t dead?”

Ilsa met Ethan’s eyes from over Brandt’s shoulder. “He isn’t quite himself.”

Ethan pried Brandt’s fingers from his shirt and held his hand between both of his. “We need to get out of here. Can you stand?”

“Is it you?” This could be a trick; Ethan could be dead in the trees, could be dying, could need him; this could be anyone! Brandt tore his hand away and felt at Ethan’s face, over his neck, his jaw.

“It’s me, Will,” Ethan said, letting Brandt search for the seams of a mask.

Terrified, Brandt turned back towards Ilsa. What if she was the fake? What if Goddard had taken Ilsa? He cupped his hands over her face, running his fingernails over her skin.

“It’s all right,” Ilsa said, so gently. “Please, Will. Let us help you.”

He thought it was them. They weren’t wearing masks. He needed to keep them with him so nothing would happen to them. He let them get him up to his feet but he was so lightheaded he nearly sank back down to the floor again. His leg hurt when he put pressure on it. Ethan gripped him around the waist and Brandt leaned into him, one arm draped over his hips and his other hand clenching the front of Ethan’s shirt.

He smelled like Ethan. He had to be Ethan. Brandt moved his hand until he could feel the warm press of Ethan’s skin.

Ilsa walked ahead of them, on alert, gun in her hand. Brandt’s mind kept trying to tell him that it was clear, they were unlikely to come across anyone, Ilsa was merely being cautious, but something was overriding his thoughts and his impulses and he felt certain they were going to get caught. They were going to walk into a hail of gunfire, Ethan and Ilsa would be dead, it would be Brandt’s fault, he would be alone.

“Don’t,” he tried to tell Ilsa. “Don’t.”

She smiled back at him reassuringly and kept walking. Ethan wasn’t letting go.

Their journey back to the cabin was mostly a blur. Brandt felt nauseous as his mind played through all the scenarios of what could go wrong, what could happen to Ethan and Ilsa. He tasted bile in his throat and his breathing was coming in harsh gasps that couldn’t seem to bring enough air into his lungs. He was so hot, his skin flushed and sweaty, and Ethan wouldn’t let go of him enough to get his jacket off. Not until they made it to the car, where Ilsa slid into the driver’s seat and Ethan pushed Brandt into the backseat, climbing in after him.

Brandt flung his jacket onto the floor, yanking now at the collar of his shirt. “They’re following us,” he muttered. “They’re tracking us.” He picked at the skin of his arm, trying to find the tracker.

“Stop that,” Ethan said, grabbing his hands, fighting Brandt as he tried to get free. “Will! You’re clean!”

“No,” he said, “no.” Why wouldn’t Ethan listen? He could feel it there, under his skin, he needed to cut it out!

Ethan held Brandt’s hands in a firm grip and leaned in close, forcing Brandt to look at him. “Will. Look at me. You’re fine. We’re fine. We’re going to figure this out.”

Brandt stared into Ethan’s eyes and tried to focus on them. He liked Ethan’s eyes and the way they seemed to faintly shift color with the light, or maybe with his moods; they were very green right now. Ethan’s face filled his vision and that was all he could see. Ethan, who looked scared. Ethan didn’t get scared.

The next thing he knew he was on a cot in the cabin, thrashing. Ilsa was lying next to him, trying to hold him down, petting at his hair. He could hear Ethan shouting in the background.

“I don’t fucking care that this wasn’t sanctioned! Get a team here if Hunley still wants to have a chief analyst!”

“He’s coming,” Brandt said, trying to get up, but he felt so dizzy and Ilsa kept pushing him down. “He’s going to find us, he’ll kill you.”

“No one is going to kill me, Will,” Ilsa said. “No one is dying here.”

“He knows we’re here! He’s coming!”

“Goddard is gone,” Ethan said, and suddenly he was kneeling on the other side of the cot, pressing his hand to Brandt’s overheated cheek. “He’s alone, he has to regroup. He isn’t coming here.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know that.”

“I do. And you know it, too, it’s just this drug that’s making you paranoid. We’re safe here.”

“Ethan,” Ilsa murmured.

“An IMF team is on their way,” Ethan said. “It’ll be a few hours.”

“No, no, no,” Brandt said, and his face was wet, why was his face wet? He tried to get up again but Ilsa was mostly on top of him, holding him down. Ethan drew his hand back and Brandt grabbed for him. “No! Don’t leave, Ethan, don’t leave me, they’ll kill you.”

“You should know I’m hard to kill,” Ethan said, but he moved only far enough to push a second cot up against the one Brandt and Ilsa were laying on. He lay on Brandt’s other side, curving his arm over Brandt’s chest. “We’re going to stay here and it’s going to be fine.”

Brandt still felt like he couldn’t breathe, panting, the air feeling sharp in his lungs. He tried to clutch at Ilsa and Ethan, digging his fingers into their skin and making bruises, but if he held onto them maybe they wouldn’t leave, maybe they would be safe.

He didn’t know how much time passed before Ethan was extricating himself. Brandt tried to fling himself after him but Ilsa clung onto him, whispering soothing words he could barely hear.

“I’m coming right back,” Ethan promised, but Brandt felt sick, he was going to throw up, his heart was going to hammer out of his chest.

Ethan came back with a group of strangers who tried to descend upon him. “No, I can’t, keep them away from me,” he said, sick with panic, trying to scramble out of the cot. He knocked into Ilsa, halfway hanging over the side, before Ethan was there.

Ethan sat up against the wall, manhandling Brandt until he was wedged between Ethan’s spread legs, his back against Ethan’s chest. Ilsa was crouching on the floor, holding Brandt’s hand.

“You have to let them look at you,” Ethan said softly, right against Brandt’s ear. “They’re IMF. They’re here to help you. Please let them.” He stroked his fingers over Brandt’s arm, trying to encourage him to hold it out so these people stab him, could treat him like an experiment, could do who the hell knew what!

“No,” he kept mumbling, “no, no, no, no,” but Ethan and Ilsa were holding his arm out tight and even though he struggled, he felt weak and helpless, and there was a needle in him, they were taking his blood, and they could do whatever they wanted with it, oh God, no.

“You’re okay,” Ethan was whispering into his ear. “Will, I promise, you’re going to be okay.”

“We’ve run some preliminary tests on the sample of the substance you gave us,” one of the strangers was saying. “We can give him a sedative that should be safe but we can’t be entirely certain.”

“Let me go,” Brandt said, thrashing again in their grip. “It’s not safe! No one is listening!”

“Give it to him,” Ethan said, and then there was another needle, and then everything went slowly dark.

-

Brandt noticed a few things upon waking. One, he ached all over. Two, he felt clammy and warm. Three, he was going to… He leaned over the side of the cot and vomited onto the floor.

“Shit,” he moaned, heaving, and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

Someone was rubbing circles onto his back and then stroking gently through his hair. After a moment he realized it was Ilsa, her soft voice murmuring reassurances.

Brandt settled back onto the cot, the stink of his own vomit in his nostrils. “Sorry,” he croaked.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” she said. When Brandt met her eyes, they were red-rimmed, like she hadn’t slept in days. “How do you feel?”

“Like I almost threw up on myself,” he said, and her smile was tired but genuine.

“Nice to see you in the land of the living,” said another voice. Ethan.

He handed Brandt a water bottle, which he took gratefully. He emptied the entire bottle.

That made him feel a little better, though it didn’t entirely chase the sour taste from his mouth. “I was drugged,” he said.

“How much do you remember?”

Brandt rubbed the back of his neck. “Enough to be embarrassed.”

Ilsa gently stroked over the back of his wrist. “You couldn’t control how it affected you. You shouldn’t be embarrassed.”

“That’s easy to say.”

“The IMF team took everything recoverable from the lab back to DC,” Ethan said. “Seems like it was engineered to amplify your fear response, your paranoia.”

“Why?” Brandt thought back. “He said I wasn’t who he wanted to use it on. Goddard. He probably intended to test it on Ilsa. But with what goal?”

“To get information?” Ilsa offered.

“Good luck,” Brandt snorted. “That drug needs a lot of work if they want to get anything rational out of the people they administer it to.”

“Maybe just to control her, then,” Ethan suggested. “You fought us but I doubt you were in any condition for an actual escape attempt.”

“Maybe,” Brandt agreed. He certainly hadn’t been. He rubbed his temples.

Ethan leaned in closer to him. “You really okay?”

Brandt focused on the care in Ethan’s face. He remembered the way Ethan had spoken to him, the concern, the fear. He had never heard Ethan actually be afraid for him before. “Yeah. I’m good. I mean, I don’t feel great, but I’m… good.”

Ethan searched his face and then nodded. He brushed his fingers over Brandt’s neck. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? I think that will help.”

“Yeah.” That sounded wonderful, actually. He stood up, then remembered the mess he had made on the floor.

“I’ll clean it,” Ilsa said.

“Ilsa,” Brandt protested, but she shook her head at him.

“Ethan and I will take of everything. Go shower.”

So Brandt did. A cold shower with shitty water pressure had never before felt so nice. He brushed his teeth and put on a fresh pair of jeans and a sweater and started to feel a little bit more like himself. The knife wound on his thigh wasn’t terrible; someone had stitched him up while he was sedated.

Ethan and Ilsa were talking when he reappeared, heads bent close. They looked good together; it made something twinge inside of him. They both looked up at him, silent now, and he knew they had been talking about him. He pretended not to notice.

“When do we head out?” he asked.

“If you’re up to it, we can go now,” Ethan said.

“Great. Let’s go.”

-

They all returned to Brandt’s house in DC, Ethan simply silently accompanying Brandt and Ilsa. Brandt felt worn out and collapsed into a dining room chair. Ethan sat down kitty corner from him, watching him, while Ilsa went into the kitchen to make tea.

Brandt slumped his head down onto his hand. Ethan nudged his foot beneath the table.

“Hey. You okay?”

“I’ll live,” Brandt mumbled into his hand, which made Ethan chuckle lightly. A mug was pushed into his field of view and Brandt took it gratefully. “Oh, God, thank you.”

“Of course,” Ilsa said, stroking over his hair like he was a cat. It felt nice.

“I’m not really a tea drinker,” Ethan said when Ilsa handed him a second mug, but he sipped it anyway.

Ilsa sat down opposite from Ethan with her own mug. She had retrieved her laptop and while they sat in silence, she booted it up. After a few minutes, she said, “The tracker’s been deactivated.”

“Well, we expected that,” Ethan said. “We’ll have to find him another way.”

Brandt kept his hands around the warm tea. “Technically I’m still on leave but I can head into the office, do some searching. After Belarus, Hunley obviously knows what we’re up to.”

“It’s in IMF’s best interests to take Goddard out,” Ethan agreed. “Potentially he could be planning to weaponize that drug.” He stood up. “I’d better get going.”

“Ethan,” Brandt started to say, standing as well, though he wasn’t actually certain what he was planning to say.

“You need to rest,” Ethan interrupted. “I’ll go. I’ll be here in the morning to take you to IMF so you can get checked out by medical.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It’s necessary and it’s happening. See you in the morning.” Ethan held Brandt’s gaze and there was obviously no point in arguing.

“Fine.” In fairness, if Ethan had been the one drugged, Brandt would be hauling him over to medical, too. “Afterwards I’ll start looking for Goddard.”

He was a little surprised when Ethan stepped forward to hug him. A firm, tight, desperate hug, like Ethan was afraid to let go, like Ethan needed to reassure himself that Brandt was here. Brandt hugged back just as tightly, shivering when he felt Ethan’s mouth press to the skin of his neck, briefly.

He thought of Ethan’s careful gaze, Ethan’s worried tone in Belarus. “Ethan,” he said, but Ethan finally pulled back.

“Sleep,” he said, smiling, but it was Ethan’s forced smile, not his true one. He moved away from Brandt to hug Ilsa, too, and she whispered something to Ethan that Brandt couldn’t hear.

“I’ll come get you in the morning,” Ethan said and then he was gone.

Brandt looked to Ilsa, feeling a bit helpless.

“It’s okay,” she said, smoothing her hand over his hair. He could really get used to that. “We talked in Belarus, after we knew you would be alright but before you woke. He’s feeling a little overwhelmed, I think. We’ll figure it out after Goddard.”

“He’s feeling overwhelmed,” Brandt muttered, and Ilsa kissed his temple.

-

Medical proclaimed Brandt healthy and fit, no unexpected complications from the drug he had been dosed with. They redressed his leg and sent him on his way.

True to his word, Ethan had showed up bright and early that morning to take Brandt in. Brandt hadn’t even had time for his coffee yet so he insisted Ethan wait; the three of them had sat down again in a close reprise of the tableau from yesterday. Ethan had seemed more in control of himself in the morning, though, so that was a plus.

He followed close to Brandt’s side as he walked to his office, pulling a chair around behind his desk so he could see what Brandt was doing. Brandt pulled up the facial recognition program but it was slow going.

“I remember you yelling,” Brandt said to fill the quiet. “In Belarus.”

Ethan wouldn’t quite look at him. “They were giving me push-back. The asshole on the other end was a real stickler for protocol and I’m not you; I can’t just order other people to do what I need.”

“So you yell until you get what you want.”

“You don’t know how it was. We didn’t know what that drug would do. I’ve never seen you like that.”

Brandt stared at Ethan’s profile because he still wouldn’t turn. “Sorry. Next time I’ll try harder not to get non-consensually stuck with needles.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said, looking down at his knees. “Next time. I missed that. Being in the field with you.”

Startled, Brandt said, “Last time was the British Prime Minister.”

“Thought he was going to steal you away from me,” Ethan said with a small smile. “You and your warm hands.”

Brandt rolled his eyes. “I think his wife would have objected.”

“I don’t know. Bet you could have seduced her, too.”

“Because that’s just what I do, huh? Seduce everyone I meet with my warm hands?”

“Something like that,” Ethan said, finally turning towards Brandt, but his expression was odd, like wistful longing.

Like it was that easy, like he didn’t have to try, like he hadn’t wished for Ethan to love him. Like Brandt hadn’t been the one who was half-seduced since watching Ethan smile at his wife in Croatia, like he hadn’t watched Ethan fall for Ilsa and desperately wanted it to be him.

“That’s what you think happened with Ilsa? I found her in France and made her forget all about you?”

“No, Will. I think I made myself unavailable and the two of you fell in love.”

All Brandt could do was stare at him, wondering how he could actually have heard what he just heard, hating how sad and matter of fact Ethan said it.

“Ethan,” he said, unable to stop the words bursting forth. “Do you really think you’re the kind of man that other people just get over?”

Ethan gazed wide-eyed at him, lips barely parted.

The software on Brandt’s screen started flashing. Conversation abruptly halted, Brandt clicked hurriedly through. “This can’t be right. Ethan, he’s in DC.”

They both sprang to their feet at once. “Ilsa,” Ethan breathed, and Brandt was already calling her as they ran for the door.

“She’s not picking up,” he said to Ethan as they raced through the halls. He left a voicemail asking Ilsa to call him urgently. “He’s in DC,” he added before ending the message, knowing she would understand.

If she got it. If Goddard hadn’t already…

But there was no point worrying about it. Whatever happened, they would fix it.

They would fix it.

Chapter Text

Brandt didn’t have significant security set up for his house but he did work for IMF so he didn’t exactly have nothing, either. He accessed the camera feed while Ethan drove (like he was in a high speed chase) but there was nothing since he left this morning which gave him the uncomfortable suspicion that it had been tampered with.

“Benji isn’t on another mission,” Brandt said, half to himself.

“No,” Ethan confirmed.

Brandt called him. He tersely interrupted Benji’s friendly chatter to ask if he could head in to IMF. “Ilsa’s in trouble,” he said, and Benji became all business. “I’m running some programs in my office. We could use some help tracking this guy.”

“Whatever you need,” Benji said, and Brandt felt a wave of intense gratitude for Benji’s loyalty.

The door was ajar when they arrived. The signs of a struggle were obvious, broken glass, a painting on the floor. Brandt locked eyes with Ethan, taking comfort in Ethan’s steady expression.

This was what they did. It was going to be fine.

Ethan called Benji as they went back to the car and Brandt stopped at the sound of his name.

“Oh, Mister Brandt,” his neighbor said. She was elderly and liked to walk her Yorkie down the block, mostly to keep an eye on the goings on, the nosy old bird. “Is your pretty girlfriend alright?”

“My girlfriend?” Brandt asked. “Did you see her?”

“Well, she went off in the ambulance, didn’t she? I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“No, nothing serious,” Brandt said, distracted, and hopped into the car as he heard Ethan tell Benji, “They took her in an ambulance.”

Ethan passed his phone to Brandt as he pulled out of the driveway, tires squealing. The Yorkie was barking up a storm.

“Four hours ago,” Benji said over the phone. “Ambulance outside your place. I lost track of it so they must have ditched it where there’s no traffic cameras but I’m on it, I’ll figure out what vehicle they took.”

“Thanks,” Brandt said, knowing that Benji would come through, that Benji would work a miracle if he had to, but he felt sick all the same, imagining what they could do to Ilsa in the meantime. Maybe Goddard had administered that drug and Ilsa was panicked and alone. He reached over and squeezed Ethan’s thigh, holding him like a vise, needing the contact.

“Okay, I’ve got it,” Benji said, and Brandt put him on speaker so Ethan could hear his directions.

Goddard was in an abandoned warehouse, like something out of a Batman comic, maybe. Benji pulled some security footage nearby that showed a grainy visual of Goddard hauling Ilsa along, two other men with him. He’d rushed it. He was going to regret that.

Benji asked if they wanted back-up but Brandt said, “No, Benji, standby in case we need something. Thank you.”

He ended the call as Ethan was loading his gun; he handed one to Brandt. “Do you want to maybe—”

“No,” Ethan said, already moving forward.

“That’s what I thought,” Brandt said, following quickly after him. At least they weren’t totally blind, thanks to Benji, and honestly Ethan could take out three men on his own. So could Brandt, for that matter.

He and Ethan split up. Brandt moved quietly, gun raised, checking around corners as he advanced. He came across a man in dark clothing, unconscious, near an upturned chair and broken restraints. Ilsa, he thought, hope soaring, because this looked clearly like she had gotten herself free. If she was drugged, it hadn’t stopped her from mounting an escape.

Brandt kept going through the building until he heard evidence of an altercation, and then a gunshot. He ran, hearing another shot, and turned into a room. Ilsa was out of sight but Goddard was there, his back to Brandt, finger on the trigger of his gun.

Brandt shot him. He went down with a crash.

“Ilsa?” he called, kneeling down to check on Goddard, but he was already dead.

“Will?” Ilsa scrambled out from behind an ancient filing cabinet and flung herself at him.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, touching her arm, but she shook her head against him.

“Just grazed me. I’m fine.”

Brandt stroked his hand over her hair, not liking the gash on her temple. It looked like she’d been struck with a gun. “We came to rescue you but I’m not sure you really needed us.”

He could feel her smile against his neck. “I appreciate the effort. Besides, I maybe needed a bit of help, here at the end.”

“There was a third man. I saw one you knocked out but—”

“I took care of it,” came Ethan’s voice from behind them, slightly breathless. “Ilsa?”

Brandt let Ilsa go so she could wrap her arms around Ethan. His face went slack with relief and he tucked his face against her hair.

Watching them with warmth practically exploding in his chest, Brandt called Benji. “Hey,” he said, when Benji answered immediately. “Ilsa’s safe. We’re good. Thanks, Benji. Tell Hunley Goddard is dead but there’s a couple of his allies tied up here IMF might want to question.”

“Got it,” Benji said. “Oh, thank God. I’m happy she’s okay. Hey, Brandt, is that, like, a thing now? You and Ilsa? Because I’ve heard—”

“I’ll call you later, Benji, bye,” Brandt said, quickly ending the call.

Ethan and Ilsa were both watching him now, Ilsa tucked against Ethan’s side. Ethan was smirking faintly.

“Not a word,” Brandt said. “Ilsa, hospital?”

She shook her head. “Just take me home?”

That warmth in Brandt’s chest grew impossibly stronger. “Yeah. Okay.”

-

Ilsa went immediately into Brandt’s bathroom to shower. Brandt stood briefly in the hallway where most of the damage from Goddard had been done, assessing, and then decided he couldn’t be bothered with it right now. He grabbed his first aid kit and then made tea, while Ethan hovered by the counter watching him.

“So tea is a thing with you?” he asked.

“I like the ritual of it,” Brandt said while it steeped. “You don’t want any?”

“No, I’m good.”

Brandt put one mug back into the cabinet and just poured some for Ilsa and himself. He added Ilsa’s milk and then went into the living room, Ethan following. He sank down onto the couch, taking a gulp of too hot tea.

“How’s your leg?”

Brandt blinked. “Honestly? I forgot about it. But since you mention it, sore.”

Ethan sat close enough that he pressed against Brandt’s side. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes. “You should rest it a few days. I expect when medical cleared you they weren’t thinking you’d be running around to foil a kidnapping.”

“Not generally part of my analyst duties,” Brandt agreed. He looked up when he heard Ilsa’s light footsteps and made room for her on the couch.

She looked a little better, dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, her hair in a bun. She sat between Ethan and Brandt, who reached for the first aid kit.

“Let me look at your arm,” he said.

She pressed her lips together like she was stopping herself from saying something; probably she knew it would make Brandt feel better if he got to tend to her, regardless of how much she thought she needed it.

“He didn’t drug you?” Brandt asked as he carefully dressed the bullet graze on her upper arm.

“I think that was the next step,” Ilsa said. “They really didn’t tie me tight enough.”

“Not sure there is a ‘tight enough’ when it comes to you. Or Ethan, for that matter.”

“Goddard was an idiot,” Ethan said dismissively, and no one argued.

Brandt touched Ilsa’s temple delicately, next to the wound on her head. “Could probably do with a stitch or two here, honestly, but I have steri-strips that I think will do in a pinch.” He applied them, pinching her skin together. “Can’t guarantee you won’t have a small scar.”

“Oh, I think I can live with that,” Ilsa said, smiling a little at him. “Can you?”

“Absolutely not. You’d be ruined for me.”

She smacked him on the arm but then scooted in so she could lean into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Brandt draped his arm around her and let himself feel the surge of relief that she was fine, it was over, everything was fine.

Then he looked over to Ethan, whose expression of naked want and melancholy made Brandt’s heart ache. They needed to show him, to tell him, that he could have this, if he wanted, that they wanted him to—

“I should leave,” Ethan said suddenly, standing. He was halfway across the room before Brandt could so much as blink at Ilsa.

She squeezed his hand. “We want the same thing,” she murmured. “You can make him see that.”

“Yes,” Brandt said, and went after Ethan.

He found him in the hall, heading for the door. “Ethan,” he said, and Ethan stopped.

Ethan’s shoulders were held tight as he turned to face Brandt and he was wearing that mask of his, cool and collected like nothing could touch him, but Brandt knew why; he knew why Ethan looked like that. To protect himself. He thought he had thrown away his chance. He didn’t understand that none of this worked without him.

Brandt moved closer to him. He slowly extended his hand to press it against Ethan’s cheek, the movement deliberate to allow Ethan opportunity to draw away. He didn’t, though his eyes went wide and a muscle in his jaw jumped under Brandt’s hand. “I’m pretty sure this is what you want,” Brandt said, “but you’ll have to tell me if I’m wrong.”

He leaned in, maintaining eye contact, his heart thumping. He thought surely Ethan would run, surely he would protest, but instead Ethan grabbed Brandt by the waist and yanked him forward. It was Ethan who kissed him, forceful, like he thought maybe he wouldn’t get another chance.

He still didn’t get it, that Brandt had longed for this, that this was everything he had wanted and thought was impossible, that he would kiss Ethan for the rest of his life if he could. He tried to show him, his hand in Ethan’s hair, pressing closer as Ethan held him, letting Ethan coax his mouth open. When they separated, Ethan pressed his face against Brandt’s neck, like he still didn’t want to let go of him completely.

Brandt carded his fingers through Ethan’s hair and looked behind them, where Ilsa had approached to lean against the wall, watching them with a small smile on her face. “Hey,” Brandt said quietly. “I know this isn’t all you want, Ethan.”

Ethan drew back to blink into Brandt’s face, then shifted until he could see Ilsa, too. She walked closer to them, extending her hand. Ethan reached out to take it, and Ilsa stepped in until she could tilt her head up.

“Ilsa,” Ethan said, faintly uncertain, half his body still pressed against Brandt. Then he seemed to accept what they were offering him, kissing Ilsa as he tugged her hand around to his hip.

It was… a very good view, Brandt thought, and allowed himself to accept that this was real. That he could have Ethan and Ilsa, that they could be something together, that they could try.

Ethan was smiling when he looked at Ilsa, as she stroked her fingers over his skin, up underneath his shirt, and it made Brandt ache with how happy Ethan looked. It made him remember sunny days in Croatia, and Julia, and the thought that Ilsa could make him happy like that, that they could make him happy like that, was the best gift Brandt had ever received.

“It only works with you,” Brandt said, drawing Ethan’s gaze to him. “It was always about you.”

Ethan seemed stunned, not saying anything, and then he kissed Brandt again, firm and open-mouthed, and then Ilsa. He looked at them, shifting from one to the other. “Can you… will you…”

Brandt focused on Ilsa, who was grinning mischievously, clearly having gotten the idea as well as Brandt had. “Shouldn’t be that hard to ask to watch, Ethan,” Brandt said, leaning in to kiss Ilsa, feeling her melt into him.

“Was it as good as you imagined?” Ilsa asked teasingly, and when Ethan flushed redder than Brandt had ever seen him, it became incredibly clear that Ethan actually had thought about this, about them.

Which was sexy, frankly, but it also made Brandt feel sad, because he knew Ethan must have thought about them in the context of something he couldn’t have. Brandt knew how that felt.

He looked to Ilsa again, whose eyes had softened, and he knew she must be thinking along similar lines. She tilted her head and Brandt interlaced his fingers with Ethan’s, firming their palms together. “What do you want, Ethan?”

“I think,” he said sounding a little hoarse, and then swallowed. “I want to be clear what’s on offer here. I don’t…”

He wanted to know this was real, Brandt heard between the lines, in what Ethan didn’t say. He wanted to know if this was sex, if this was once, if this was an experiment.

If there had ever been a time for honesty, it was now.

“I went to France because of you,” Brandt said, and let the words pour out, watching Ethan’s face. “Because I was in love with you and I was certain you didn’t love me. When I met Ilsa there, I was just… lonely, and she understood, because she felt so many of the same things I did. I never thought I would care for her as much as I did, as I do,” he said, and felt Ilsa press her hand to his back. “But we both agreed that we didn’t want a relationship that didn’t include you. So that’s what’s on offer. Me, and Ilsa, both of us, if you want us. I really fucking hope you do.”

Like a dam breaking, Ethan surged forward, his arms around Ilsa and Brandt both. “Yes,” he was saying, “yes, please, yes,” his face against Ilsa’s neck. His voice sounded choked and Brandt thought maybe he was crying a little, which made Brandt want to cry. He wondered how lonely Ethan had been, how much Brandt had missed, thinking that this was impossible.

“When I followed you into the hall, I was imagining there would be more kissing and less crying,” he said, and then Ethan laughed, and Brandt cherished the sound of it. “So if I ask you what you want again, I’m hoping it’s more along the lines of ‘I want Will to blow me,’ or something like that.”

Ethan pulled away from Ilsa so he could see Brandt more clearly. His eyes were red and wet but the tears were already drying on his cheeks. “Is that on offer?”

Now Brandt laughed. “Ethan, I have wanted to have my mouth on your dick for literally years, so yeah, it’s on offer.”

“I would be happy to as well,” Ilsa said, her hand on Ethan’s arm. “Though I feel obligated to point out that Will is very good with his mouth, so maybe you want him first.”

“Thank you,” Brandt said entirely seriously, while Ethan looked back and forth between them. He reminded Brandt of a kid on Christmas who had gotten everything he wanted and couldn’t decide what to play with first.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Brandt said, giving Ethan a swift kiss on the mouth before taking his hand again to tug him down the hallway. “Bedroom’s upstairs. You don’t have to decide anything if you don’t want to, we’ll just… see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said, and he was still smiling like he couldn’t believe this was real. “I like that.”

“I hoped you would.” He kissed Ethan’s knuckles and then extended his other hand to Ilsa, so they could all go upstairs together.

Getting undressed was a bit of a production as they kept becoming distracted, sneaking in kisses, hands wandering, mouths pressed to bare skin. Ilsa pushed Ethan down onto the bed on his back, straddling his hips as he stroked over her sides. Brandt propped himself onto his elbow next to them, tracing the backs of his fingers over Ethan’s shoulder, and thought that he could get off simply watching them, these two beautiful, amazing people who somehow wanted him here, too.

He really wanted to touch, though, too, so he scooted in closer, dragging his hand over Ilsa’s spine, her warm, smooth skin. He kissed Ethan’s arm, feeling the tension in his muscles as he touched Ilsa. He wanted to feel every bit of them, to learn Ethan’s body, to take his time with Ilsa in a way they hadn’t during their brief dalliances together.

They tangled together, leisurely exploring, Brandt’s lips on Ethan’s neck, Ilsa’s fingers tracing the curve of Brandt’s ass, Ethan thrusting up against Ilsa’s hip. Brandt wrapped his hand around Ethan’s cock, stroking lightly, before moving his hand up towards the base, behind his balls. Ethan trembled and Brandt suddenly wondered, “Have you done this before? With a guy?”

“A few times,” Ethan said, gasping as Brandt’s fingers wandered. “A very long time ago, and once more recently. He, uh, he looked kind of like you.” Ethan wouldn’t quite meet Brandt’s eyes. “His eyes were the wrong shade of blue.”

The idea that Ethan had been watching him closely enough to know the exact shade of blue his eyes were was enough to undo him. “He looked like me? You picked up a guy because he looked like me? Ethan, do you have any idea how hot that is?”

Ethan’s brow furrowed like he was giving it intense consideration. “Probably as hot as when I thought about the two of you?”

Ilsa trailed kisses over Ethan’s clavicle, her voice a low hum. “What did you think about? When you thought about us?”

“I… A lot of things, but I…” Ethan bit his lip. “I pictured you in his lap.”

“Like this?” Ilsa shifted so she could swing her leg over Brandt’s hips, careful of his stitches, and he sat up straighter on the bed, holding her around her waist, her breasts pushed up against his chest. She rolled her hips down, grinding against his cock.

“God, yes,” Ethan said, leaning back on his forearms. His hair was falling into his face. “Like that.”

“Like in France,” Ilsa said, smiling at Brandt. She kissed him with lips and tongue and her teeth grazing his bottom lip, like they hadn’t done in France. He groaned into her mouth, wondering if he was actually going to come from only this. “I think we should both have our mouths on Ethan,” she murmured into his ear.

Brandt kissed her jaw. “Brilliant idea.”

“What?” Ethan said, his eyes going wide as Ilsa and Brandt settled on either side of him.

Brandt was probably smiling stupidly but he couldn’t help it; he looked across at Ilsa and her tiny smirk, Ethan naked between them, and had never been so happy in his life. He ran his hand over Ethan’s chest because he could, he could touch Ethan and Ethan wanted him to, this was something he could have. He thumbed over Ethan’s nipple and listened to him gasp; he dragged his short fingernails over Ethan’s belly and down to his groin. Ilsa was loosely holding Ethan’s dick, moving slowly up and down, while she watched Brandt’s progress.

“Guys, what,” Ethan started to say, and Ilsa raised her eyebrow so Brandt bent down and licked over the head of Ethan’s dick, just past Ilsa’s hand.

“Oh my God,” Ethan said, falling back against the pillows, his chest heaving with a heavy breath.

“We’ve barely started,” Brandt said, not even trying to keep the fondness out of his tone, as Ilsa leaned in to mouth over the base.

Ethan made a strangled sound, his hips lifting up off the bed, and Brandt pressed his palm against Ethan’s abdomen to keep him still while he and Ilsa began in earnest. He wanted to take Ethan apart, to find what made him gasp and moan and cry, until the only words he could say were Ilsa’s and Brandt’s names. He wanted Ethan not just to know that they loved him, but to truly believe it, for that to be his only conscious thought.

From the glint in Ilsa’s eyes, Brandt knew they wanted exactly the same thing.

-

Brandt felt uncomfortably warm when he awoke, blinking his eyes open to discover that at some point during the night he had ended up squashed up against Ilsa with Ethan wrapped around him. “How did this even happen,” he muttered, because he was sure he had been on the end when they had gone to bed.

“I got up to use the bathroom,” Ethan murmured into his ear. “You had rolled over to Ilsa by the time I got back.”

That was kind of embarrassing. “You weren’t lying when you said you run hot. You feel like a furnace.”

“I’ll save you some money on heating in the winter.”

Laughing, Brandt shifted over to his other side so he could see Ethan’s face. “Maybe that was my plan all along. It wasn’t really about you. Just your body heat.”

Ethan’s eyes were crinkling up in amusement and it was adorable, not that Brandt would ever admit to having that thought. “I’m not offended. It’s logical.” He let his hand drift over Brandt’s cheek, his neck, his shoulder.

Brandt wanted to kiss him so much. He wanted to lay Ethan out and kiss every inch of him until Ilsa woke and joined them. Or maybe he and Ethan could wake Ilsa together, gently with hands and mouths. And yet there was a cold voice in his head, in the bright, clear light of morning, that kept telling him this was insane. Last night had been… perfect, but they had also been running on the aftershocks of fear and adrenaline.

“Ethan, are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, keeping his face and his tone as neutral as he was capable of.

A frown line appeared between Ethan’s eyes. He grabbed Brandt’s hand and kissed each of his fingertips. “Do I look like I don’t want this?”

It was a fair question. The answer was obviously no. Brandt let Ethan keep hold of his hand. “It’s just… it will be complicated.” Relationships were hard enough with two, and they thought they could try with three? With their jobs and lives and dangers? It was insane.

Ethan pushed Brandt over onto his back, jostling him into Ilsa, who shifted and slid her arm over Brandt’s chest while Ethan kneeled over him. Ethan was smiling, just a faint curve of his mouth. “Do you think I didn’t realize it would be complicated?”

“I… I guess not.”

“Is Will trying to back out?” Ilsa asked, her voice sleepy. “Mon cœur, we talked about this. It’s no good without Ethan but it’s no good without you, either.”

The endearment made him flush, made him think of warm days in France and silly games, and how quickly Ilsa had become someone he liked to be around.

“What she said,” Ethan agreed, nudging his nose against Brandt’s cheek. “Anyway I think we need someone who’s at least a little bit… practical. The one who tries not to jump.”

“Yeah,” Brandt sighed, mostly theatrically to hide how touched he was by Ethan’s words. The one who tries not to jump, like that made him special, like that made him someone Ethan valued. “I’m always the boring one.”

“That is not what I said.” That frown line reappeared. “You think you’re boring?”

“He’s always saying that,” Ilsa said, tightening her arm where it was still slung across his chest. “We’re going to have to do some firm retraining.”

“Hey,” Brandt protested. “I’m not a dog.”

“No, you’ll be much more fun to train than a dog.” Ethan pressed tiny kisses down to Brandt’s face, his eyebrow, his nose, his chin, until Brandt was shoving him away and Ilsa and Ethan were both laughing.

He tried to squirm away from them but it was two against one and Ilsa especially fought dirty; she got his wrists pinned down and her knee wedged between his thighs while Ethan straddled his legs like he was the back-up.

“Fine, I won’t make breakfast then,” Brandt said, making himself go limp but it didn’t fool anyone; Ilsa didn’t let go of his wrists.

“We can have breakfast later.” Ethan had this glow to his face, this happiness that still stunned Brandt to see, to be directed towards him and Ilsa. There was a soft shine in his eyes when he looked at them and Brandt knew that Ethan loved them; it was crazy but Ethan Hunt loved them, and not only Ilsa. Ethan loved him.

Maybe he was kind of dumb, Brandt realized, as he hadn’t fully believed that until this moment. Ethan had been showing him since they kissed, and maybe before that, too, when Brandt had been doing everything he could to not see it. Ethan trembling beneath his hands, Ethan sitting on his porch watching the birds, Ethan holding him in Belarus and shouting until he got help.

“Will,” Ilsa said, moving so that he could see her face better. She looked at him the same way Ethan did and wasn’t that something? This incredible woman he had been irritated to bump into in France and somehow she loved him, and he wanted that to always be true. “You’re good?” She removed her hands from his wrists.

Brandt grabbed her wrist before she had fully drawn back and kissed her palm. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m good.” He didn’t let go, running his thumb over her palm. “Maybe you should ask Ethan now. Your question.”

She hesitated for a second before seeming to realize what he meant, then smiled at him like he was the loveliest thing she had ever seen before turning to Ethan. “I asked you once if you would leave with me but that was the wrong question. I want to ask if I can stay.”

Ethan seemed momentarily stunned, his lips parting. “Ilsa, stay forever, if you want to, please,” he said, leaning in so he could kiss her, his hand on her slender throat. Ilsa laughed against his lips and kissed him back.

Brandt felt filled with a warm, bright burst of happiness as he watched them. “You can both stay forever here, if you want,” he said, a little embarrassed of how dramatic that probably seemed but also meaning it with his whole self.

Ethan rested his free palm on Brandt’s chest, over his heart. “Yeah,” he said. “I think we might.”

End