Prologue

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William Brandt was five foot ten, weighed a hundred and eighty pounds, had hazel-green eyes and dark blonde hair. He had three healed scars, one tattoo on his left shoulder, one chicken pox mark far back on his right cheekbone, and one pair of very distinctive 'carpenter's hands'.

This is what his official file said.

What it didn't say, what it didn't consider important, was the man inside the shell.

It didn't mention his new-found self-confidence, that he was now a firm believer in the old 'it's not me, it's them' mantra. Nor did it mention his ability to adapt most IMF equipment to fit him personally, or his tendency to have a lunging stretch or two before putting himself through what he considered to be near-death situations, or his upside-down way of seeing the world due to being ruthlessly practical. A tactical thinker, one-time field agent and then analyst, his file didn't conclude that he was now a man who believed anything could get done, so long as you let the team he was in flip angles in unexpected ways and didn't ask where their sources came from.

His file didn't mention the enormous number that had been done on him courtesy of one Ethan Hunt, and the turmoil that it had caused. It didn't mention how Agent Brandt had recovered from the emotional torture inflicted upon him by Hunt in the cause of The Bigger Picture. It did, however, document his change of status from 'analyst' back to 'field agent'. It mentioned no specifics, but the simple red stamp that read 'on call' was enough. Agent Brandt was moved to full active status under the leadership of Ethan Hunt. And that was that.

His team members had adjusted to the idea that he had never really been cut out to be an analyst, and whilst Agent Hunt had been friendly enough with everyone, there was just something that still didn't gel one hundred percent with Brandt. It was Agent Carter who left scrambled, untraceable text messages for Brandt if he had not been heard from between missions. It was Agent Dunn who turned up at whatever cover house he was using with six packs and what he referred to as 'crisps' - despite the fact that Brandt did all he could to avoid people finding him when off-duty.

How Benji Dunn always managed to locate him, Brandt had no idea. But Dunn noticed, over time, that what had started off as a simple 'do not disturb' vibe from Brandt had turned into a definite 'I dare you to find me here'. And the replies to Carter's text messages had gone from a curt 'radio silence pls', to 'e/thing smooth', progressing to 'good here. You?' She thought it a victory; Brandt didn't think of it either way.

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