Love and Other Mission Anomalies, 2/4

[topaz119]

Will has owned the apartment for almost a decade, from before he even left the field. During the years he spent working his way up the ranks of analysts, it was nothing but a place to be when he wasn't locked up in a secure office or on the road. Before that, it was a tax write-off. Now, it's become pretty much his entire world, and he finds himself grateful to the nosy, pushy real estate agent who hadn't let him settle for just anyplace all those years ago. It's small, but it faces south so it gets lots of light and, more importantly, it's in a great neighborhood, right off Connecticut in Kalorama, one that's easy to live in even with a slow-to-heal leg. It's a couple of blocks to the Metro and then a straight shot up the red line to the endless rounds of physical therapy, and a bit further the other way to Adams-Morgan and enough cafes that there's not much danger of starving due to lack of kitchen skills.

The only drawback is that the pre-World War II construction is hell on wi-fi and Will isn't quite up to ladders and drills to mount signal repeaters. Benji's on it, though.

"They don't build 'em like this nowadays, my bleedin' arse," he's muttering as he breaks a second drill bit on the hard-as-stone plaster walls. Will surmises that his consultation with the building manager had not gone entirely to plan, but since Will is currently under orders from Jane to sit the hell down and figure out how you want to organize your books he can't really say for sure. Jane's tearing through boxes like a Fury, and she's muttering to herself, too. Will thinks she's taking the fifteen boxes that have lived in the corner since the day he moved in and the correspondingly empty shelves a little too personally, as though he's ignored them so thoroughly he doesn't even see them now in order to insult her sense of order, but she's apparently very happy to fuck around with all the books he's never been able to make himself toss, so he's happy, too.

He is, he realizes. Happy. Or at least content, which sounds strange given that between the nerve tissue damage and the triple round of infections he's lucky to even have a leg that needs four hours a day, every day, of the hardest physical effort he's ever had to give and no guarantees about full mobility at the end of it all, but it's true. Somewhere between Moscow and now, he lost the death grip he had on his guilt and it's been slowly fading away. Maybe it's just that he doesn't have time for anything that's not right here, right now. Maybe it's that his life now, with these people Will never gave a thought to letting into his carefully ordered life, but who are not only here, but take Will as an extension of themselves--leaves no room for ghosts. Whatever it is, for once in his life, he's not going to question it.

The doorbell buzzes right next to Benji's ear, three fast burst of staccato sound, startling him enough to break a third bit, and he slams the drill down in disgust. "Relax," Will says, as he pulls himself to his feet and reaches for his cane. "It's just Ethan here to drag me out on a forced march."

"How very Ethan," Jane murmurs, rolling her eyes, and Will grins. It is very Ethan, always looking for a way to push that extra bit more.

"Fitness course at Rock Creek Park?" Ethan asks before he's two steps into the room. Will bites back a groan. It's been a good week--the cane has been more of an accessory than a necessity--but still doesn't mean he's in any kind of shape. Ethan's watching him with that Team Lead glint in his eyes, though, so Will leaves him to face Benji's wrath over the broken drill bit while he pulls on the layers necessary for the combination of early November chill and Ethan pushing him to the edge.

With the door to the bedroom closed, Will can only hear voices, not what's being said, but it doesn't matter. Will knows exactly what's going on, regardless: Ethan's harassing Benji, while Jane throws out comments until the tables turn and Ethan ends up defending himself. Again, it's all very Ethan, and maybe it's that he's only hearing tones and inflections, no distraction from the actual words, but it strikes Will that Ethan isn't easy like that with him. He comes over a couple of times a week, but always with a plan, never just to hang out, like the other two.

Will stops for a second and turns that over in his mind, looking at it as objectively as possible. He honestly doesn't think he's imagining things. There's a distance between Ethan and himself, one that isn't there between the others, and one that Will can't attribute to his own issues and secrets. Before all this, maybe, but it's not that, not now. It could be their pattern, that how they started is how they're going to go on, but they'd been working past that, he's sure of it. It's taken him longer than it should have to notice anything now, but now that he sees it, he not only sees how smoothly Ethan keeps his distance, but how hard he's been working to make that distance seem like nothing out of the ordinary. That right there, that last part, tells Will Ethan knows what he's doing. There are only a couple of reasons Will can think of that would set Ethan on that path, and none of them are things that are good for a team.

The smart thing, of course, would be to let it alone, let Ethan be Ethan and see where they end up. Even if he keeps throwing the walls up, it won't really matter until they're back out in the field, and given that most days Will doesn't get far without a cane, that's not going to happen for a good six months yet. It's what Will knows he should do, but they're only a quarter of the way around the fitness course when he hears himself say, "They want me back at the home office, whatever time I can give them." Ethan hesitates for a second, no more than the smallest of hitches, one that he covers easily, but Will's looking for reactions now, so he sees it. He doesn't know what the hell it means, but the first part to solving an anomaly is to see it. "I start in a couple of days."

"If that's what you want," Ethan says, so carefully neutral he might as well be writing in neon about how he doesn't think it's a good idea. Will shrugs.

"It'll give me something to do."

"This isn't them guilt-tripping you, is it?" Ethan drops the neutral act and turns that laser-focus on Will. It's better--it's real--but it's still unnerving. "Making it be about how you can be useful when your leg is all you--"

"It's true, though," Will interrupts, because the one thing he's sure of is that he's not letting Ethan derail this by talking about his damn leg. "I can be doing a hell of a lot more than sitting around staring at the walls."

Ethan looks at him for a long couple of seconds, before he says, "Yeah, okay, I'd be going nuts, too." Will snorts, because there's an understatement if he ever heard one. "But it's temporary and we get first dibs on you when you're cleared for the field."

"If you want me," Will says.

"Why wouldn't I want you?"

"I don't know," Will says. "Why wouldn't you?" Possibly for the first time ever, Ethan is the first to look away. If Will had had any doubts about the conclusions he's been drawing, that quick, skittering shift of Ethan's eyes lays them all to rest. "Something's not right, and I have a couple of ideas, but I don't know, Ethan, and I need to."

"Will--" Ethan starts, and Will knows the start of a dodge when he hears one, and now that he's started this, he's not letting it go.

"It's all pretty fuzzy, what I have in here," Will taps the side of his head, "from Romania." None of the doctors seem all that stressed about it, all of them, from the shrinks to the neurologists agreeing that its a normal reaction to the physical trauma. Will still loathes it almost as much as he hates seeing how little his leg can take these days. "It skips around a lot, lots of shit that I know couldn't possibly have happened, lots of holes where there's nothing, but..." Will takes a deep breath, lets it sigh out, and then just says it. "I'm pretty sure I came out to you, and I need to know if that's going to be an issue."

It's not often that Will knows he's thrown Ethan, but this time there's no doubt. Ethan stares at Will, close enough and still enough that Will can see the flecks of gray and green in his eyes. He recovers quickly, though. No surprise there. "Technically," he says, shaking his head and letting one side of his mouth quirk up into a smile, "it was the Ukraine. We'd cleared Romanian airspace by then." His smile fades back to the serious, intent look. "That's not a problem. It wasn't a surprise--it's a part of your file."

Will shrugs again. Everything goes into the files these days--a legacy of the Cold War, when agents could be turned by a well-timed photo and the threat to make it public--and by the time IMF came calling Will had made a start on sorting his shit out, so, yeah, Ethan's right. It shouldn't have been a surprise, but that doesn't mean it hasn't been a problem before.

"It's different when you hear it in person," Will says, as steadily as he knows how. Ethan's shaking his head before Will's even finished, and Will would be lying if he didn't acknowledge how much he wants to believe it's that simple. He knows it's not, though.

"It's not a problem."

"Then what, Ethan?" Will stops right there in the middle of the path. "Because it's something, and it's not me this time."

"It's--I'm trying to do the right thing here," Ethan says, and honest to christ, Will has no idea what the hell he's talking about. "Trying to think things through, not to just fly off--"

"So what you're telling me is that you picked now to stop going with your gut?"

"You hate it when I do that!"

"Seeing that it's saved my ass a couple of times, no, I don't hate it," Will snaps. "It just... makes me crazy."

"Fine," Ethan snaps right back, but then he takes a breath and Will can almost see him counting to ten. "I'm trying not to make you crazy," Ethan says, back to the carefully neutral tone again. Will is developing a healthy hatred for it. It's more aggravating than any ten wild plans and how fucked up is that? "You don't need that right now."

"I need the truth," Will says. "No shit, Ethan. If this--" He waves at the path, at Ethan and himself-- "if this is some guilt thing, let's drop it, okay? I don't need to be an obliga--"

"Don't," Ethan says. "Do not go there. I-- Shit, I am not doing this out of guilt." There's an uncharacteristic edge in his voice, and Will has just enough time to see the reckless determination in his eyes before he's cupping one hand along the back of Will's head, holding him close. "No guilt," he breathes against Will's jaw, across his cheekbone, settling finally on his mouth, quick, feather-light touches that Will feels with every nerve in his body, and when Ethan starts to ease back, Will doesn't have to think before he's sliding his own hand up Ethan's back, keeping him right where he is. Ethan kisses him this time, opens Will's mouth with his own, tasting him and teasing him and staking a claim Will hadn't even realized existed.

Will has no idea how long they stand there, but when there's a small, tactful noise and they break apart to let a couple past them on the path, his hand is cramped and aching from where he's been leaning hard on his cane, and his leg is killing him. He looks at Ethan, his breath caught hard in his chest, and something in him smooths out at the look in Ethan's eyes.

"No guilt," Ethan says, roughly. "And you coming out to me is really not an issue." He's flushed and breathless, his mouth swollen, and Will has to stomp down hard on the sudden desire to see how much farther he can push it. He wants to think it's coming out of nowhere, this possessive need, but he can't, not if he's being honest. It's always been there, but now it;s come raging up to the surface, aided and abetted by Ethan himself, and quite nicely, Will adds, just to be fair.

"Good," Will says, and then almost goes down when he forgets and puts a little too much weight on his damn leg. "Fuck, I need to sit down," he mutters. He manages to get to a bench without embarrassing himself, and looks up at Ethan, who is trying and failing not to hover. "Stop," he says, stretching his leg out and sighing at the relief. "I wasn't paying attention to how I was standing. No harm, no foul."

Ethan looks him over with narrowed eyes, like he's ready to call BS, but stands down after a couple of seconds. Will looks up at him and, deciding that there's no time like the present, lobs the first metaphorical grenade. "Julia?"

"Is never going to be able to be in my life," Ethan says, dropping down on the bench next to Will. "I can't say she's not here," he says, but slowly, as though he's working through it for himself, too, "but we know the score." He leans forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs and turns his head so he can watch Will. Will watches him back, until Ethan says, "That's it? That's the only thing that's pinging your radar?"

"It's the only thing that matters," Will answers. "Yes, this is crazy and reckless, and whether or not I get back to the field, we have to tell Jane and Benji, but all that's nothing but logistics."

"Wow," Ethan says, with the beginning of a smirk. "No footnotes or disclaimers or--"

"Shut up," Will says, dragging Ethan down and giving him something else to do with his mouth. Will initiating things apparently is all Ethan needs to go all out. When they come up for air this time, Will drags in a shaky breath and decides they have to move or they're going to give the Park Service a hell of a show. "C'mon," he says, and Ethan's right there with him, already on his feet and offering Will an arm up. He sets a pace on the way back that's only a tiny bit faster than Will would have set for himself--god forbid they not push it a little--but makes up for it with the hand low on Will's back as he weaves them around the running strollers and bikes on their way out on the trail.

It's all incredibly domestic, right up to the point where they get to the car and there's a strange cell phone on the driver's seat.

Ethan looks at it for a long few seconds, until Will nods at him to pick it up. Will turns away and reaches for his own cell, scrolling through his contacts for the cab company he uses when he's too beat to deal with the subway.

"Ethan," he calls while he waits on hold. The messenger phone is already in the trash, a few wisps of smoke the only witness to its self-destruct, and Ethan is on his way back to the car. "Try really hard not to do anything too stupid."

Ethan's grin is as impossible as ever, but he nods with an unexpected seriousness. He looks at Will across the roof of the car, and Will doesn't know that he's ever seen him without so few defenses in place. He hopes he's returning it in kind. Ethan nods again, and he's gone, and Will takes a couple of seconds before he goes back to dealing with life.

"Yeah," he says into the phone. "Can I get a cab at the fitness course at Rock Creek Park? Local trip."


Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

AO3