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It was on the plane that Benjamin Dunn first wrote the letter. Just in case. He had written them before, as a precaution, but he figured this would be the last one, for better or worse.
Ethan,
I'm sorry I didn't make it. I had hoped we'd get through this one and you know, just have an out. But if you're reading this then that didn't happen. I'm sorry Ethan and I loved you. Don't forget that ever. I've been in love with you for years. Probably a bit of a shock I know. I suppose you'd tell me I should have said earlier and you don't mind and all that if I was still alive. But anyway. Don't forget me, alright Ethan? Survive for me.
Love,
Benji
All the letters had been along these lines over the years, his first he had drafted after Lane took him, carved into his arm with a blunt nail that lay on the table where he had been tied down. The scars were still there from that, Ethan's name raised in white across his skin beneath the other white lines (some inflicted by Vinter, some Benji had made himself during the endless sleepless nights between missions) if you knew where to look. He had loved Ethan even then. He had fallen first, then that sentiment had grown in the little moments and the big. Ethan catching him doing his t-shot in the bathroom, Benji's rambling, panicked excuses before Ethan produced his own vial and put it next to the younger man's. When Ethan had saved him from Lane's bomb for reasons that were a mystery even to him until now, as they sat, Benji mourning the loss of Luther as Ethan pressed their foreheads together, thumb gently rubbing the nape of his neck. He saw it in the American's eyes now.
Ethan loved him too. In what way he couldn't be sure, but he loved him. That was certain. Then they were in the bunker and Ethan's hand was on his shoulder as he gave him a silent promise that the older man would live. He would see Benji again. Benji was sure of this, as the hot blood warmed his hand and chest. Ethan would live to see Benji's dead body. To read his letter. He smiled a little at that, hoping the blood wouldn't damage the letter too much, he'd hate to leave without saying goodbye.
Benji had to stay awake for a little while, of course. He had to help them with the mission, Paris did some very makeshift surgery on him, kindly ignoring his surgery scars - enough to keep him alive to help them but then she let him sleep. Shut his eyes. Die.
He woke up to the beeping of machines and the smell of illness and a calloused hand on his. The hand was warm, it felt nice in his state of semi-consciousness. Benji was vaguely aware of the sound of someone crying quietly so he cracked his sleep-encrusted eyes open, straining against the bright lights of the hospital as he felt a teardrop fall onto his hand.
"Hullo Ethan,"
"Benji what the fuck."
"Nice to see you too."
"Why didn't you tell me? Grace said- Grace said you were shot before I left and you just let me go. You were dying and you didn't even say a proper goodbye to me. Do you have any idea-" he broke off then, glaring at Benji with tears still in his eyes, "do you have any idea what that would have done to me?"
Ethan sat back down in the chair next to him, the anger suddenly drained from him. He folded the half-blood-brown letter in half and dropped it into the small metal bin next to the bed. Benji suddenly went very still. Ethan had read his letter. He knew.
"If it makes you feel any better you weren't meant to know."
"Benji-"
"Can we just forget about it, Ethan. Look, I'm alive. You're alive. That's brilliant. So we can just put this behind us, alright?"
"No."
"No?"
Ethan leant forward, pausing a little to allow Benji time to back away as his eyes flicked down to his team leader's lips before gently pressing theirs together. Benji reached up and held onto Ethan's jaw to steady himself before pulling away.
"I love you too, Benji. Have for a long time now."
Benji laughed suddenly, hand still on Ethan's jaw.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just didn't think totally heterosexual action hero Ethan Hunt would be up for snogging some techie with an anxiety disorder."
Ethan batted his hand away and levelled a mock-irritated look at him.
"Very eloquent, Benji."
"What? I may dress like a professor but you know full well most of what I read is Spirk fanfiction."
"And anyway you're not 'some techie', you're team leader. My team leader."
"Aw come on, we both know that was only a temporary role. My lungs are probably too busted to do more field work anyway."
"I can't go back to the field either you know, not until we've completely deleted the Entity."
"We?"
"Yeah. We. I don't know how to do that stuff. I think I'll need a Spirk-fanfiction-reading techie to help me. And then..."
"And then we're done. Retirement?"
"Yeah. Yeah I think so."
Benji smiled fondly at him as Ethan grinned, eyes still shining with tears. The American kissed him again, running a hand through his hair before stepping back and grabbing his things.
"Benji. Look, we need to lay low for a while."
The blonde man nodded. It made sense. He would recover, Ethan would cover his tracks then they could meet again.
"Trafalgar Square. A year's time."
Benji smiled.
"See you there."
-
Benji walks off, resigned to not seeing Grace or Paris or Degas again. He will miss them. That much he knows. But now, as he walks through the crowded streets, a warm hand catches his from behind and he smiles. He doesn't turn around until he gets to the safehouse and unlocks the door.
"Hello Ethan."