Chapter Text
They sleep in the woods the first night. Safehouses seem a bad shout just now, what with the world searching for them. At least Benji had tossed a pair of sleeping bags in the car’s trunk. Hyper-compact electro-heated bug-repellent sleeping bags, because the tech is one of the only real perks of the IMF. He’s not about to give it all up just because the first rogue AI has turned out to be as much of a dick as all the stories predicted.
Resting like this is actually nice, in a way. Been a while since he’s gone this long without being plugged in to countless interlocking webs of data, and the absence leaves him hollowed out, thoughts best avoided clamoring to fill the space. Still—he’d been on a camping trip or ten, back in ye olden days. Something of those quieter times seems to carry through, all the way to this new air, these unfamiliar trees, these severely upgraded sleeping bags.
It puts Benji in mind of long, murmured conversations in the dark, gaze mesmerized by the campfire’s dancing flames.
He’s got to admit, cozy as the thermal sleeping bags may be, their warmth just doesn’t soothe the soul in the same way as the flames which seemed too vivid a symbol of presence to risk tonight. And though he finds himself inclined to chat, not ready to let his searing thoughts subsume the darkness, whispers just won’t do the trick with Ethan having deposited himself a good thirty feet away.
It’s one of Ethan’s hilarious little quirks—he refuses to sleep within a twenty foot radius of anyone, thirty feet if space allows, having declared himself a menace to all and sundry when asleep.
Just because it’s true doesn’t make it less obnoxious.
Well, in this life of theirs Benji has learned to make do. He raises his voice—only as he forces the volume does he register that they’d been all but whispering throughout the day, fear of being discovered already teetering into paranoia—and asks: “So, where’re we headed, anyway?”
He’d not asked for more than which direction to point the car before; hadn’t been ready to look ahead just yet. Now, with memories clawing for purchase, introducing forward-oriented stressors seems a much brighter idea.
“I’m going to Russia. Well, Sevastopol first, then Russia if I’ve no luck there. Then maybe somewhere in the ocean.”
Resolutely ignoring the singular pronouns, Benji answers mildly: “Sounds like a lot of ground for us to cover. And water.”
Ethan is silent for a long moment. “You don’t have to come, Benji.”
All at once, Benji feels very, very tired. “Could we skip this part, Ethan? Or at least swap roles, for a bit of variety. We know each other’s lines by heart.”
Another silence. At last he hears, “Goodnight Benji,” but only just.
He fears he has been unkind, but can find no words that haven’t been worn shabby long before now. So he answers only, “Goodnight Ethan.”
The second night, the time at which Ethan can no longer force himself to remain alert coincides balefully with bare and rocky terrain. It makes both of them antsy to stop here, in land too open and unshaded. As he had caught a nap or two during the drive, Benji argues in favor of his taking the wheel while Ethan sleeps, driving until they find some kind of shelter. The arrangement would greatly increase the efficiency of their travel, but as there are no contortions that will place a minimum of twenty feet between them within the vehicle, Ethan gives it a firm veto.
He might accede to sleeping in the trunk if they rearranged their things, which is precisely why Benji will not be planting the idea in his head.
Still, the ground is hard and cold, he’s edgy and exposed under the wide open sky, and this could all be so easily avoided if Ethan would just get over himself and admit that Benji has and is facing far greater dangers than a jumpy sleeper in the passenger seat.
All in all, Benji's goodwill is already frayed when, after he has spent an hour or two tossing about on the hard ground, Ethan pitches his voice across the mandated thirty-foot separation: “You could still leave.”
“Jesus, Ethan,” Beji snaps. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” Ethan says.
“I thought we covered this. Why would anything have changed?”
“You had a panic attack this morning.”
“And last night, you had nightmares and punched a tree.” Well, grazed a tree more like, which was fortunate, because broken knuckles wouldn’t have improved anything. “Neither of us are here for the laughs.”
“You don’t have to be here at all!”
“But you do?”
“Someone’s got to be,” Ethan says, dismissive. “And I’ve got the key.”
“Technically, I’ve got it at the moment. How ‘bout I fight the reality-destroying code while you kiss and make up with the US of A?”
“Benji!” Ethan snaps, as if Benji is being the unreasonable one.
“What, am I really so very much more incapable than you?” Benji goads.
“Obviously not!” Ethan says, and his tone has graduated from annoyed to so genuinely aggravated that Benji is startled into being really quite touched.
"Huh," Benji says. Sometimes he has to remind himself that Ethan is a master of deception and all that. It's so easy to just, believe him. Even now, all reasonable doubt catalogued and acknowledged, the heat of Ethan's response calls forth a helpless warmth.
“Benji?” Ethan says, sounding uncertain.
“Goodnight Ethan,” Benji calls cheerily, having recalled along with his brightened mood that it is best not to give the man anything to work with. It’s all just words, in the end; Ethan won’t dump him on the side of the road. Well, not anymore. Not since he got it through his skull that Benji will just jog on after him, and usually land himself in the same danger without the backup of a teammate who knows he’s in the vicinity.
“Just … think about it,” Ethan sighs at last. “Goodnight, Benji.”
Benji snorts a laugh—and takes care that it’s loud enough to be heard.
The next day, Ethan punches him.
Or rather, in a dazed nightmare state Ethan unsuccessfully attempts to punch what he believes is an enemy threat (it’s Benji).
Two descriptions that give wildly differing perspectives on the same event, and one of which, according to Benji, is simply incorrect.
Naturally, Ethan chooses the incorrect one. And has been sulking in the backseat for over an hour.
(‘Having an existential guilt spiral’ would probably be a more apt description of what Ethan is up to, but Benji chooses to think of it as sulking. It’s already distressing enough that way.)
The thing is. Well, the thing is, Benji doesn’t really know what to do. Makes him feel like a shit friend, but—he’s not usually here for this part. Ethan has a frustrating tendency to run off to lick his wounds, and the only other time Ethan had taken a sleep-addled swing at Benji, when Benji had been unprepared and landed with a black eye, they’d been in the midst of a mission that didn’t leave an abundance of leisure for either wallowing or reassurance.
Not that Ethan hadn’t managed to wallow on his own time. Benji had a rum go during the remainder of the mission, what with Ethan refusing to look him in the face, but he naively assumed that would be the worst of it. The anonymous cake that materialized on his doorstep in the brief mission interim that followed had earned only an eye roll, and when Ethan turned down his invitation to help him consume it he was disappointed and a little (more than a little) embarrassed, but not apprehensive.
Even being assigned to one mission apart from Ethan didn’t raise alarm bells—it happened often enough—but he finally felt a twinge of uncertainty on the second. And after subjecting his unfortunate Ethanless team to his sour mood all throughout the third, he set himself to hacking and confirmed: Ethan had requested that they no longer be assigned to the same missions, insofar as possible.
Had this occurred early enough in their partnership, Benji would have assumed the inevitable had occurred, that Ethan had found someone actually competent to replace the bumbler he’d had to make do with in the meantime, and he would have had a proper spiral over it. Fortunately, Benji’d had some time to get to know his fearless leader by then, and contented himself with a wee anxiety attack before marching to Luther and recruiting him into helping set an ambush for Ethan. Benji didn’t even have to sell him on it; when he related the tale Luther said, “oh god is that what he’s been moping over these past three months?” and proposed the ambush himself with an air of great aggravation and relief. From there it was just a matter of pouncing on Ethan in the hospital when he was next in the country and shouting a bit of sense into him. Also threatening to follow him into the field, assigned or not.
God, Ethan is the fucking worst.
But he hasn’t run off further than the back seat this time, if only due to a clear and total lack of more dramatic options. And that should be good—that is good—if only Benji knew how to make Ethan understand it.
Based on the fact that Ethan has spent the past hour turned fully away towards the opposite window, hunched in on himself, making no reply to Benji’s weak attempts at conversation, he’s doing a shit job so far.
He’d started out so well, too. Dodging the blow without even slightly crashing the car, for a start—he’s rather proud of himself for that, and a bit annoyed that Ethan’s too busy wallowing to credit it. From there he'd resisted the urge to reach out to Ethan, having discovered the hard way that he responded poorly to touch in such a state (hence the aforementioned black eye).
But experience has also taught him that—and yes he has cherished the realization beyond all reason—Ethan seems to find his voice soothing in these moments of panicked confusion, and Benji had managed to whip out a sufficiently quick and steady monologue to calm and ground Ethan before he attempted a second—
Well there’s an idea.
Here’s the thing about Ethan as a conversationalist: he’s such a good listener it’s almost unnerving. Took Benji a long time to get used to it; the way Ethan focuses all his attention on Benji’s rambling about The Talos Principle or some shite like he’s hearing about the mysteries of the universe.
It would have been more flattering if Ethan didn’t do the same with most people.
Took Benji for a good roller-coaster in the early days—from “oh my god he sees something in me I have to think of something worth saying how do I keep him doing that” in the first star-eyed meeting, to a mortified “oh my god he does that to everyone I was so stupid to think I was special”, to a prolonged game of “are we friends or is this just Ethan being Ethan”, a stage that dragged on—longer than Benji cares to admit.
In his defense, with most folks “he would die for you” is a decently definite proof of care, but with Ethan one has got to put in good hard work to get out of that category, not into it.
He has admitted it though! That they’re friends. That Ethan enjoys his company. But he’s continued to assume the attentiveness in conversation is a considerable exaggeration—not a deception, so much as Ethan’s wild overestimation of what basic politeness looks like.
But perhaps—
“I listened to this great audiobook before the world’s current explosion,” Benji begins, grabbing for the first neutral topic that comes to mind. “It’s called Annihilation, and it’s a horror book, but oddly enchanting, too, and kind of beautiful? Heh, saying that out loud I guess I understand why I connected to it. Even though if I think about it, the main character reminds me more of you than me, in a roundabout sort of way—I bet you’d survive Area X. I mean, surviving is sorta a specialty of yours, and thank Christ for it, but this is different because you see—well I’ve got to back up a bit. Area X is …”
Benji has rarely had occasion to feel grateful for his talent for blabber. Nor is he certain he has occasion now, at first, as he rambles on to an unresponsive audience.
Sometimes Ethan’s invariable politeness in low-stakes settings is a pain and a half; Benji wouldn’t be nearly so on edge of he could trust Ethan to snap at him to shut up if he was making things worse.
And yet—after a time he’s almost certain that Ethan has uncurled, if only a little. Once Benji’s moved on from the book to the 2018 film adaptation, and from there to the film Arrival, and the short story that was built from, Ethan is sitting normally. Still facing away, but muscles released to what passes for relaxed with him.
Encouraged, Benji is just moving on to Mirage, when Ethan speaks up abruptly: “I think I’d need you with me to survive Area X."
Benji blinks; recalibrates. “Back to Annihilation, right. Also, what?”
“You said surviving it takes adaptability, right, and being able to see the beauty in the place in spite of everything?”
“Yeah, and adaptability isn’t exactly my strong suit, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“You’re underestimating yourself again. Besides, I’d help you with that. And you’d help me see the beauty.”
A blush creeps over Benji at once, but the embarrassment is well compensated when his deflection—“Ethan, buddy, I’ve never met anyone who gets attached as hard and fast as you. I think you’d be just fine”—brings a tinge to Ethan’s cheeks in return.
“Thank you? I think?” Ethan answered. “But you know how I get when the people I—the people who are most important to me are in danger.”
Benji frowns. “Not being able to leave is part of Area X’s whole thing, remember? Getting others somewhere safe while you charge in alone wouldn’t really be an option there.”
“Yeah, I mean more the part where I get sort of. Single-focused.”
“Understatement of the year, but I’m not sure I see the relevance. And if that is the problem, wouldn’t me being around make it worse?”
“I wouldn’t think of you any less if you weren’t there,” Ethan says matter-of-factly, which Benji tries very, very hard to feel normal about, “and with the area expanding, you’d still be in danger on the outside. And—I don’t do very well on my own, Benji.”
“You get on just fine, Ethan,” Benji rolls his eyes.
“I really don’t. I get myopic. In that story—I’d get so focused on trying to keep it from ever reaching you, or anyone, I’d never see the beauty of the place. Only the threat.”
With a hum of understanding, Benji nodded. “Okay, you may be right. Still don’t see how I could help.”
“It took me a bit to find the words for how, even though I felt it while you were talking. I think it’s two things, mainly. The first is that, I can play every part, but you’ve always found ways to stay, connected, to the world outside our work, in more than passing. I—love it, our world, but I’ve forgotten how to touch it. You haven’t. I can never tell if you understand how remarkable that is.”
Benji swallows, glancing in the review to find that Ethan’s eyes have fixed on him at last. It’s never occurred to him that playing Shadow of the Colossus late into the night could be twisted into a strength, and it’s with an odd new shame that he admits: “It’s harder than it used to be.”
Something that looks strangely like heartbreak, and too much like shame, flashes across Ethan’s face. “I know. But you still do it. You’re alright, Benji, I promise.”
Breathing through the words, Benji tries to redirect. “And the second thing?”
“You help ground me to the world, too. Give me a bigger perspective—a more complex one. Everything seems clearer with you, and,” Ethan hesitates a moment. “More worth looking at.”
Suddenly it doesn’t feel like a failure when Ethan’s gaze wanders back to the hills rolling past.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Ethan whispers toward the hills, hours later when he has reclaimed his seat in the front.
“You haven’t,” Benji says, “you won’t.”
It’s probably a lie. He means it anyway.
There’s only one bed, because of fucking course there is.
Following one too many doom-laden debates with Luther over the inevitabilities of AI, he and Benji had put their heads together to assemble and keep current an analogue listing of abandoned buildings round the world that were least likely to be fitted with technology from the last century or so. It was a time-consuming project that had seemed likely to wither away unused, but these days Benji has never been so grateful for unchecked paranoia.
Until Ethan refused to make use of the work, because maybe The Entity had caught a whiff of it anyway (the man was still a bit hazy on ‘analogue vs digital’), because maybe the location they choose will be watched (“the CIA can’t spy on every building, Ethan; they’d be far more likely to catch us in the car, and frankly I’m shocked they haven’t”), and because perhaps it’s not so abandoned or technologically barren as internet history and a satellite view suggest (that’s actually kind of valid).
But after the falling-asleep-in-the-car debacle, a loss of control which for Ethan indicates a truly frightening level of sleep deprivation, Benji puts his foot down with an ultimatum: either Ethan reconciles himself to car naps and trusts to Benji’s field-qualified reflexes, or they find four walls and maybe even real actual beds to sleep in.
After some griping, Ethan settles for the latter, which leaves Benji satisfied. Until they get there and take so long trying to ensure they won’t be spotted by any humans or technology of unidentified variety that he’s starting to second-guess the wisdom of this approach even before the single-bed discovery.
Here’s the thing. It’s not as if they’ve never been short a bed before. The IMF isn’t exactly notorious for seeing to the needs of its agents. It’s not even that Benji makes it weird, no matter how likely it is that he would, given half a chance.
As things are, it’s Ethan who not only firmly vetos sharing, but also staunchly refuses to be the one to utilize the bed, sleep deprivation and injuries notwithstanding. And as Benji has learned the hard way, Ethan will physically fight him for the floor if necessary—injuries once again, not withstanding. And while Benji can meet Ethan stubbornness for stubbornness in a battle of wits, when it comes to a wrestle, Ethan’s is the inevitable success.
So Benji rubs tired eyes as he looks at the bed, and wonders if there’s any point to initiating a fight he’s guaranteed to lose. And he looks to Ethan where he sways, unsteady in his exhaustion, and knows the outcome is inevitable regardless.
Only—he wonders if Ethan might not be tired enough to wish to dodge the fight as much as Benji.
So when the survey is complete, when they have found and knocked the dust from an only somewhat moth-eaten blanket to act as buffer between whoever sleeps on the mattress and the layers of filth it has acquired over time, Benji exchanges one battle for another: “I’ll take the bed without a wrestle, but only if you answer a question. Well, two questions.”
Ethan eyes him warily. “Benji, can’t we just—”
“Nope.”
After a moment, Ethan asks, “What are the questions?”
“First: did you plan on asking me about leaving again tonight?”
The silence stretches so long that Benji nearly takes it as the confession it is and moves on to the more pressing question. But Ethan speaks at last: “I just want you to know that you have the option to leave. That you’re not trapped.”
Benji barks a laugh. “Message received, thanks. How about we just take it as read and leave off the fighting over it every bloody night.”
By Ethan’s guilty glance away, Benji knows he’s not getting out of it so easy as that. Then Ethan meets his eyes once more, only to draw a hand across drooping eyelids, which take so long a struggle to reopen that for a moment Benji fears the man will drop asleep on the spot.
“What’s your second question?” Ethan asks.
Taking pity on them both, Benji sits on the bed, moving along it until his back is propped against the lengthwise wall. “Come on, sit down at least,” Benji offers, patting the mattress beside him.
For a long moment he doesn’t think Ethan will do it, but at last he moves forward and collapses against the wall’s hold next to Benji, a few careful inches between them.
“Why do you keep asking if I’ll leave?”
Ethan huffs a small, surprised laugh. “You know the answer to that, Benji.”
“I know the usual answer,” Benji allows. “This is different.”
Ethan stills. “It is?”
“Yeah. These days you only try to get rid of me—of everyone—when you’re really panicking. But I thought you understood by now that Luther and I, at least, aren’t going anywhere. I thought you’d learned to let us follow you, when those irrational moments passed.”
“Well, The Entity does offer a new level of paranoia. And with Gabriel—maybe I’m just panicking at all times.”
“No. I mean maybe you are, but the asking is still different. Planned, not torn out.”
“Maybe I’ll just fight you for the bed,” Ethan says, sounding deeply unenthused.
For a moment Benji considers letting Ethan have the out. It feels a little wrong, taking advantage of his exhaustion. But when else is he to have even a chance at the answer?
So he takes a deep breath—and chokes on his words. He closes he eyes, and lets his mind drift to long-ago whispers in the dark. Now is the time for secrets. He lilts to the side until his shoulder just brushes Ethan’s, and he breathes: “Do you really think I’m a liability on this mission?”
He feels Ethan jerk in surprise where their shoulders graze; he himself flinches as Ethan’s voice bursts out too loud for this time and place. “What? Benji, no!”
It seems strangely important to reclaim the quiet; like something might break if he doesn’t. So it’s without thinking that Benji reaches a hand across his body and rests it in on Ethan’s forearm, saying, soft, “Shh, Ethan, alright. What is it, then?”
Benji’s heart beats loud as he waits, hoping for an answer he can believe.
When Ethan speaks again, his voice has quieted, and he sounds terribly sad. “I’m really sorry I made you wonder that, Benji.”
“It’s okay Ethan. It’s mostly me, anyway. I wonder enough without help.”
“You do? Still?” It had grown quite dark as they spoke, but Benji can make out Ethan’s silhouette shifting towards him. “Why?”
“... That’s a conversation for another whispered talk,” Benji says at last, realizing that his hand is still on Ethan’s forearm and drawing it back slowly, as if it might escape notice that way. “Tonight, I’d just like to trust you aren’t waiting for me to fuck it all up. It would do wonders if you gave a reason I could believe for trying to send me away.”
“Aright, but Benji, I never—and why would you—”
“Ethan? Please.”
“Alright Benji.” Ethan breathes, but says nothing more.
“Ethan?”
“I’m not sure how to explain.”
“Right.” Benji draws back, betraying the sanctity of the night to retreat into the hard shell he’s been working on this past decade.
But before he can shut its door, Ethan takes his turn reaching out. He holds Benji’s hand in both of his own, and he says, “Please, Benji. I’m going to tell you, I just need you to hear me. To trust me.”
And without effort Benji is drawn back into the vulnerable softness, saying and meaning it, “Of course I trust you, Ethan. I’ll listen.”
“Thank you,” Ethan says, and doesn’t release Benji’s hand. “So, um. You’re right, I have been worrying about having you with me on this mission, but it never crossed my mind to worry about your competence. There’s no one I trust like you, and Luther.”
“Okay,” Benji whispers.
“It’s just that—this doesn’t feel like a survivable mission. There’ve been others that have seemed the same, and here we are, but there’s always the chance—and it feels higher now than ever—that this is the time the sacrifice play will be the only option.”
“I know that, Ethan. I hate it, but I know it. We’ve been over this.”
“Yeah, it’s just. There’s this stupid thing that happens when I’m around you Benji, where I—I don’t want to let go.”
Benji frowned. He’s beginning to think he’d misjudged, and Ethan is being driven by the same motives as ever. “Don’t want to let go of me?” he asks, strange though it feels to say aloud.
“Well yeah, we both know I’m not able to do that,” Ethan says, and Benji hears the smile in it.
“Yeah,” Benji admits softly. It's one of those funny contradictions that comes with running about with Ethan. He can’t for the life of him believe that Ethan sets such value on his life, and he knows down to his core that he does.
“I meant—god, it’s stupid. I meant that when I’m around you too long, I don’t want to let go of myself. Of my own life.”
“Oh.”
“And I can deal. I’ve done it all this time, I thought I had it under control. I do what I have to. But these days, and we have no idea how long it will last, these days with just you and the peace and all the beauty. I’m afraid it will change me. I’m afraid I won’t do what I have to, when the time comes.”
Then don’t do it! Benji wants to tell him, and he scarcely holds back, then let me, if the time comes. I want to live too, but it’s my turn, let me! Fortunately what emerges is the less damning: “You’ve got to know that if my being here gives you some distant spark of self-preservation, I’m even more definitely staying than I was definitely staying before.”
“Yes. I know,” Ethan says, and he sounds ashamed. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”
“Well, thank you for telling me anyway. Sorry for pushing you.”
“It’s okay. And I’m sorry again, for what you thought.”
“Stop apologizing,” Benji says, and finds that for once he has nothing to add. For just a moment, he wants to sit here and let it sink in.
I make him want to live. I make Ethan Hunt want to LIVE.
The moment is about to pass—he’s about be very busy trying not to open his mouth and beg Ethan to explain to him where, why, and how, precisely, he inspires the life-wish so that he can bottle it up and offer Ethan daily swigs, when soft hair tickles his shoulder. Next thing he knows Ethan is pressed up against him, weight limp, breathing soft and even.
He still clasps Benji’s hand in both his own.