Chapter Text
Combat has never been his strongest suit.
He’s not terrible at it. In fact, he passed the field exam with an above-average result in hand-to-hand combat. But average is something that only works in statistics; in the field, you are either better or worse than the other, and on that note, his statistics were not looking great. Well. If you are working with Ethan Hunt, none of the people you are dealing with are in any sense average.
They worked hard on it, he and Ethan. After London, and then Kashmir, Ethan was determined to train him personally. To his defense, it was Lane. He even kicked Ilsa’s ass and that’s saying something. But there’s always gonna be another Lane, and he can’t always rely on someone to get to him in time. Plus, one-to-one private time with Ethan was not something he would ever turn down.
It was probably both the best and the worst time of his life. Apparently, Ethan’s expectation was that he should be able to fight another Ethan and win after all this. He deduced that this was simply mathematically proven impossible, but he didn’t say anything. After the first day, every single one of his muscles was in so much pain that he couldn’t even stand up, and he was pretty sure there were bruises forming in real time on his ribs.
“I’m sorry,” Ethan said, when massaging his calf. He couldn’t see his face, because he was using every strength still left in his body trying to hold still and not to scream. “It’s going to be tough. But it’s never a fair game, and I need you to…”
Ethan’s voice trailed off, and his movements hesitated for a second.
“Get better?” He managed, as half a joke (maybe less). He struggled to move to a more comfortable position (there wasn’t one) and let out a sigh of defeat. He knew he was the weakest link in the team. A liability. It was always him who was targeted and breached, and got the whole mission jeopardized. Even though Ethan didn’t say it, he must be disappointed. He needs to do better. For them, for Ethan.
But Ethan didn’t respond to that. He kept the movements of his hands with the precision and frequency of a clockwork machine. He might’ve lost in his own thoughts already, Benji thought, and he would never know what Ethan needs him to do. Bummer.
But then he heard him say, in a voice so low that he almost missed it,
“Stay alive.”
Which, conveniently, leads to the matter at hand.
He wasn’t thinking that much when he dashed out of the safe house; in hindsight, he probably should. But their comms were hijacked and the Entity is using his voice, using Ethan’s unwavering trust in him to lead him to danger, and he simply cannot have that. He is a field agent, and if sitting behind computers doesn’t work anymore, he will find Ethan out there.
He jumped on the boat and started the engine before he could even steady himself. The roar of the motor bounced from the walls looming over the narrow waterways. Venice at night is both a dream and a nightmare for someone like them. Secret tunnels and alleys everywhere, and the shadow hides both you and your enemies.
He drove towards the last location he heard Ethan saying over the comms. They can’t be far with how twisted the alleyways are, and he was sure he could locate them once he’s close.
There were noises coming from a distance. He stopped the engine and let it flow under a bridge by momentum, trying to figure out which direction the noises came from. When he came out of the shadow of the bridge, he felt something. It was pure instinct, a second nature one naturally obtains once they are in this line of work and alive for an enough amount of time. A chill down his spine, an inner voice screaming for him to run as fast as possible. He turned around and saw a man in white, standing on the bridge, looking curiously down at him.
“You must be Gabriel,” he said, slowly moving himself into a defense position.
Gabriel laughed before jumping onto the boat.
“And you are Dunn.”
Now, let’s go back to the first fact that we have established: combat has never been his strongest suit. Add that to fact number two: Gabriel is really good. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that he’s losing; the third fact that they are on a boat and everything is shaking was also not helping him at all. He ripped down the steering wheel just in time to block a stab from Gabriel’s dagger, and while it was the least appropriate time, he thought of how they found Ethan wandering on the streets of Rome with a steering wheel cuffed to his hand, and how relieved Ethan was when he turned around and found him.
“You are doing great,” he heard Ethan talking to him in their training session, after he hit the senior agent with an umbrella that was definitely not a part of the training instruments but happened to be within his reach. “Use everything you can find. It’s never a fair game.”
“It’s easy for you to say it,” he lay on the floor, waiting for the black spots in his eyes to disappear. “I bet you had never had an unfair fight.”
“You’ll be surprised.” He can practically hear Ethan’s grin in that. “I’m having one of those every Tuesday.”
“Oh yeah? Enlighten me then. When was the last time this has happened? Because I’m gonna kick your head if you said a mission in the nineties or something like that.”
“I would love you to kick me in the head any second from now, regardless of what my answer is. And no, it’s not from the nineties.”
He heard the ruffle of fabrics and the presence of Ethan lying down next to him.
“It was Lark.”
That took him by surprise. “Lark? Walker? The guy with a funny mustache? Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen him fight. I think if I had fought him when he was at his best there’s a good chance that he’d win.”
Oh wow. He had never heard Ethan say something like this. Actually, he had never thought about the possibility that Ethan might ever lose. “But you did fight him and you are still here. Any tips you might wanna share?”
“I threw a helicopter at him.”
He burst into laughter despite the sore on his belly. By his side, Ethan turned to him with a signature smile that he always had after he had told a terrible joke.
The merit of that story was difficult to reach when he was bleeding so much. There were at least two deep gashes on his forearm and the blood was making everything harder to grip. Adrenaline was probably the only reason that he was still standing at all, but not for long. Come on, Benji, think. What is the best thing you can do? What would Ethan do?
Ethan wouldn’t end up in this situation in the first place, was his conclusion, but that didn’t help much. He narrowly blocked a strike with a crowbar, but the clanging of metal knocked it out of his slippery fingers, and that was it. He watched it happen, out of his body and from afar, as the dagger entered his body, hot knife and butter. He watched himself fall to the floor, blood flowing from under his body like a stream.
“You know, I didn’t really understand why you are the key to breaking Ethan Hunt. But I think I can see it now. I guess the Entity is never wrong.”
Gabriel’s comments came to him from above, but none of it matters. What matters is…
“Can I ask you a question?” He heard himself saying, still lying on the mat of the training room.
“Always. What do you want to know?”
“Were you scared?”
Ethan was silent for an exceptionally long time. After a while the senior agent slowly pushed himself up, and he followed him awkwardly.
“I’m sorry, that was a stupid question. You don’t have to—”
“Yes. Constantly. Even now.”
His breath halted. The air in the room seemed to be solidified. Ethan’s eyes were now fully on him with a look that he could not decipher.
“But you can’t let it get to you. There’s always something you can do. It’s never the end if there’s something you can still do.”
The sound of a splash brought him back and he found himself underwater. He couldn’t breathe, but it has been like that for quite a while. The foul taste of iron was on his tongue. The yellow lights of Venice were getting further and further away, waving in the ripples that were calming down slowly.
A silhouette of a man on a boat, watching him with mild interest.
There’s always something you can do.
Combat has never been his strongest suit.
Marksmanship, on the other hand, is something he’s proud of.
He reached behind his back and felt the familiar touch of a cold, metallic object. The same one that took down Wistrom and has been with him ever since. Ready, aim, fire. He heard his firearm instructor say. It wasn’t Ethan, but if he closes his eyes he can imagine it to be. He closes his eyes and sees Ethan standing by his side in the shooting range. The heat of his body radiates when he adjusts his position.
Ready.
He opens his eyes, draws the gun out and holds it in front of him. The water helps steady his hands. He knows every detail of his personal firearm by heart and he knows that he’s within range, even underwater. He lets out a final exhale and watches a string of bubbles floating up.
Aim.
His vision is tunneling. It’s almost like a sniper scope. He aims half an inch lower than the image he sees, where the actual target is. He has one shot.
Fire.
He pulls the trigger.