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Sometimes, you look back on parts of your life and realize, "damn, that is not normal." For example, not everyone becomes a wanted criminal after they quit their jobs, and certainly not all of them can go back to where they started and live like nothing had happened. Brian Gamble likes to think that maybe it's just LA, but who knows.
After all he'd been through, he really can't care less about, well, everything--almost. To think that faking his death would be the wildest thing he lived through--oh boy was he so wrong. But he thinks himself lucky. Lucky to settle back into a place that holds so many precious memories; lucky to have the brilliant, strong, and loving men he calls family to hold onto during and after the quite literal end of the world. The thought of his brothers and boyfriend makes him smile, dim yellow light bouncing off his eyelashes. Life is getting better by the day.
The bar is packed with young people celebrating their 21st (although some are not unfamiliar faces) and Brian scans the room for creeps trying to take advantage of the half-drunk kids, just in case. It's not like everybody around the block knows that Brian Gamble can and will deck anybody out if they tried something funny in his bar.
Jim, his old partner, would be home resting right now, exhausted and knowing that tomorrow will be another long-ass shift, but he will be smiling half-asleep at Brian when he gets home and they will spend some quality time together, even if it's just cuddling and nothing else. Brian lets his thoughts drift as he leans on the counter, and that is when he spots a hooded figure with a familiar shape sitting in a corner.
Brian's heart drops and his smile fades, but unable to make out the reason. He slowly makes his way towards the man and asks for his order, only for the man to look up with a pair of gray eyes not dissimilar to his own. Brian feels his breath catch as his hands start shaking. His nose burns and his lashes feel wet, but he’s smiling.
That's his brother. His brother Kenneth James, now known as former CIA Black-Ops agent Aaron Cross.
And he's come back home.
💫
Several months ago...
Eric Byer almost flung his pen into the air when the burning argument right outside of his office sent James Rhodes slamming open the door and saundering in. Without giving Byer time to express himself in his usual passive-aggressive manner, Rhodes slammed the door shut again. Eric put down the papers and sat upright; at this point, all he could do was rub at his temple and sigh.
"I thought the CIA black-ops were cleaned up." Rhodes leaned over Eric's desk and said. "I thought there were no black-op agents left--hell, I thought LARX wasn't even real ."
Taking Rhodes' scoff with a twitch of his eyebrows, Eric took a deep breath and prepared for the hailstorm that was about to come. "Get to the point, James. What is it now?"
Rhodes shook his head and began pacing around the room. Turns out a LARX agent had gone rogue. A LARX agent , as if not enough bullshit happened in these past few years. First a global nuclear crisis, then the Blip, then the invention of fucking time travel , followed by the Avengers almost crumbling when its the Iron Man tip-toed on the verge of life and death.
And now this.
It's not that Eric didn't know what James went through since before the Avengers even started, but he hadn’t lived an easy life, either... And now the both of them must put all of those behind them and help stop yet another international terrorist. Rhodes was still dumping information on the IMF-led mission in capturing LARX-4--how it was completely unfathomable that a LARX subject would lose their loyalty and how dense the south Asian population is, making it easier for the subject to--
Eric's ever brilliant and collected brain short circuited like an old warehouse having all its lights shut down. There is nothing in the cold emptiness but a dim echo bouncing off the walls.
South Asia. LARX. Painful and fucking gruesome deaths.
AARON.
Eric did not even wait for Rhodes to finish the request for his collaboration. He kicked away from his desk, grabbed only a thin suit jacket and made towards the garage; Rhodes froze for a brief second and then caught up with him.
💫
"I hope you're on the other side,
talking to me too.
Oh, am I a fool
who sits alone,
talking to the moon.
I know you're somewhere out there,
somewhere far away..."
Well apparently not far enough. Eric jammed the mute button on the car's radio, reducing the vehicle into silence. The leather seats smelled like a cheap rental's; like business and politics, numbing and distant. Rhodes sat in shotgun and kept glancing at Eric, not frustrated but rather concerned. Eric took a second to glare back, and Rhodes put his hands up.
"Hey, man, you know i'm just a bit scared of you right now," he said, trying and failing to slip in a chuckle. "The last time I saw that face, we were deployed and your fiancee was getting remarried to that dickhead ‘round your corner."
That seemed to do more harm than good to the general atmosphere, seeing that Eric frowned and pursed his lips. He eventually huffed after a long pause. "Bullshit. You're never scared of jack."
"Well, a murderous robot army is pretty close to scary."
Eric snorts, and that was the last sound either of them made on the trip to IMF's HQ.
So the legendary Ethan Hunt did live up to his reputation. With a little bit of helping and forced improvising, the situation was pretty much under control. The directing team, so full of young blood, was yet to calm down from the last sequence of heart-stopping stunts that the team eventually managed to pull off. Discourse about their valiant chief analyst broke out in the control room, along with cheers for the extraordinary luck that is the team just so happened to recruit an ex-CIA agent--who turned out to be a total badass--before the subject could. Talks of marvel and admiration filled the room, suffocating the quiet Colonel in the back office. As Rhodey waxed poetic about both the IMF’s (and the Avengers') world-saving skills, Eric Byer loosened the grip around his throat that was his tie and slipped out of the room like some coward deserter.
💫
William Brandt was pissed off--at anything and everything. Whenever he goes back into the field with Ethan, they end up yelling red-faced at each other with their teammates dramatically distracting themselves. Those were always expected. But getting his family dragged into this? Will hadn't stopped taking deep breaths in about five minutes now, pulling himself back from uncontrollable breakdowns once and again. Benji even took a hint, for once in his life, and began to draft his own report for the first time in forever.
William Brandt had learned that shitty situations tend to get shittier and he’d wished--hell, prayed--that for once that won’t apply to his dear brother, who had been through too many of them and fought with teeth and claws to get away. “Our pasts will always come back to haunt us,” Clint would say, and as much as Will tries to ignore it, he knew that it was true. He exhaled once more and started to draft up a plan to help Aaron get back on track in his life--as “on track” as possible, at least--despite already shaking from exhaustion.
That was when Ethan, clothes changed and wounds dressed, pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. That was when William realized the very reason he joined Ethan on missions at the start.
The brunet still looked slightly disheveled from an adrenaline rush, a few strands of hair came loose and dangled from his temple, his cheeks red, wiped clean of blood and dirt. Will couldn’t see a trace of bandaging under his thin button-up or loose khaki shorts, only some bruising here and there. Those were going to look ten times worse a few days later, Will noted, but with him in the field Ethan is so much more careful not to pull unnecessarily reckless moves and even takes care of his injuries more seriously.
Will shifted his gaze upwards and found himself relaxed without a thought. Ethan was looking at him with an expression so soft and affectionate that he can forget all the tedious aftermaths of missions and just revel in the fact that he gets to live another day with this impossibly amazing man in front of him.
It was only as Ethan took one of his hands and wiped away the sweat stain on his cheek with the other did Will notice himself mirroring that smile. He leaned into the touch and huffed out a genuine laugh of happiness. Nevermind all the work he has to do after today. If Ethan Hunt can finish a mission with minor injuries with William Brandt next to him, William Brandt can power through all the paperwork there is with Ethan Hunt by his side.
💫
The sizable condo muffled the sound of today’s news on the other side of the apartment. An unstable dormant volcano in the local area had erupted, toxic gas covered the ancient mountain and blanketed the sky. Fortunately, shockwaves from the preceding small earthquake alarmed many residents and the mayor called for immediate evacuation, not a single person had died or was severely injured. In the room across from the TV, a brunette and a dirty-blond haired man sit together on the bed, the man obviously nervous and wouldn't stop fidgeting with his fingers.
Aaron was not used to nearly dying, but he’s starting to think that he can try. His brother and Marta are going to give him hell for charging back into the melting building for that little janitor but he doesn’t care.
It was worth it. The boy could not have exceeded 19 years old and clearly has a passion for environmental research. His existence is too real for Aaron to turn his head and walk away from. He was so similar to the auburn-haired, hazel-eyed doctor… He was so… alive. His heart was beating faster than when he held his sniper rifle at the two wrestling men at the edge of a balcony overlooking the boiling spring, highly reactive vials of alien substance travelling between indistinguishable hands and feet. No, no. His head is humming so loud he could barely hear his heartbeats. This wasn’t supposed to be happening to his enhanced body, and yet, this was the second instance in four short days.
He should have known this--should have seen this coming the moment his past walked through the door and offered him to join it or die, the moment he realized that he was doomed after turning down that offer, that he never escaped the old life, that he was singing Bourne’s reprise. Aaron felt a fear that he hadn't felt since he last saw his handler’s face in Somalia.
He was more scared now than a half hour ago when he pushed that boy out of the falling building as he tripped on a rebar and was almost crushed by the ceiling.
He had a sense of purpose then. Save the boy. Save this one boy. But this heroic-looking act was not nearly enough to redeem him. The deathly dread and confusion rendering him helpless and hopeless. Once again he was Kenny James, drifting aimlessly through a crowd of unfamiliar faces.
"It's all over now, Aaron," a woman’s tender voice, shaky yet firm, pulled him back to the present. Marta rubbed Aaron's back and shoulders, tilting her head to confirm the statement by locking their eyes. Aaron blinked and nodded heavily. She needs me to get through the rest. His mind was clear and with an objective once again. He sighed into his hands, focusing on the affection embedded when Marta ruffled his hair.
"Get some rest," she adds, pressing a kiss where her hand was.
"You too, doc," came the reply.