A/N

Awhile ago I watched a review retrospective on the Mission: Impossible films as a lead-up to Rogue Nation. In the Mission: Impossible II review, it was pointed out that it was trying to be a James Bond film, that the section where Ethan races Nyah is a copy of where Bond races Xenia in GoldenEye. While I'm more kind to MI2 than most, it's a similarity I can't deny. So, drabbled something up.

An Afternoon Drive

It felt strange being back at CIA headquarters.

None of the people gave him a second glance, much to his relief – he was an IMF agent, and sticking out was a sure way to get you killed. But while he doubted that anyone in the CIA would want to kill him, he was sure that if they knew who he was, they'd at least be treating him warily. Because when you were the first and only person to ever break into the heart of the George Bush Centre for Intelligence and retrieve the IMF's NOC list, when you'd made everyone in the CIA look like a fool by doing so, well, that was bound to make some people feel uncomfortable. Or annoyed. One or the other.

So he kept walking. Down through the endless halls of one of the most secure facilities in Virginia. On and on, until he found his target, hunched over a computer, looking at what looked like some kind of car race.

"Luther."

And watched as his target turned round. And grinned.

"Ethan."

The two of them shook hands. Formally, but firmly – when you performed the most daring heist on US soil in the country's history (at least in regards to information theft), that tended to be a bonding experience.

"So, back here again," Ethan asked, drawing up another chair beside the desk. He gestured towards the screen. "I see the CIA's got their priorities straight."

Luther laughed. "Nah man, it's my break. This is stuff from a year ago."

"So why you watching it?"

"It's fun. And I haven't seen it before."

Ethan looked at the screen – he was due for a meeting in fifteen minutes' time. A meeting that he'd rather put off, or better yet, just not attend. Somehow, the IMF had suckered him back into their little world, and somehow, for some reason, he was letting them.

I need a vacation.

Well, that would come eventually. All his attention now was on the overhead view of the two cars going down a mountain road.

"So," Ethan asked. "Where and when?"

"France," Luther answered. "Back in ninety-five." He gestured towards one of the two cars – a Ferrari 355. "See that one? Driven by Xenia Onatop."

"Xenia," Ethan murmured. "Former Soviet fighter pilot, later joined the Janus Syndicate, right Confirmed dead in Cuba?"

"Right." Luther gestured to the other car – an Aston Martin DB5. "And see that one? Guess who's driving that baby?"

"I'm on a deadline Luther, just tell me."

"Fine," the hacker said. "James Bond."

Ethan blinked. "James Bond?"

"James Bond."

"James Bond," Ethan repeated. "As in…Christ."

James Bond. Who, in any intelligence agency, in any country, hadn't at least heard of the man? The man was a legend – someone who'd stopped the Cold War from getting hot a dozen times, bedded twice that number of women, and, last he'd heard, was still working for MI6. And-

"Is that his car?" Ethan asked. "I mean, one of those MI6 cars that does the…y'know…stuff?"

Luther shrugged. "I guess. Like I said, haven't watched this before."

An MI6-made car. Ethan rubbed his eyes. Oh sure, the IMF had face-makers, exploding gum, and a hundred other gadgets that would make a magician weep. But MI6 had…well…stuff like this. Cars that had ejector seats, machine guns, heck, could even go underwater if the rumours were true.

Ethan drew up his chair and watched the two cars close in on each other, taking up both lanes of the road. Forget the CIA. Forget the IMF. Forget the mission. Right now, he was hooked.

"Are they racing?" he asked.

"Guess so," Luther answered. He laughed. "An Aston Martin versus a Ferrari. Well, that's no-"

Ethan slammed a fifty dollar note on the desk. "Martin. Fifty big ones."

Luther glanced at him. A second later, he put down a fifty of his own. Followed by another one.

"They're paying you well then," Ethan said. He put down two more fifties. "Luckily, Aruba has more benefits than a tan."

Luther put down another fifty. "Tan suits you," he said. "But you need a haircut."

"My hair's fine." Ethan watched the race. The Ferrari had recovered from a spin after a near miss with a tractor. Recovered, but was far behind. He looked at Luther. The hacker remained silent.

"Think this is how he does it?" Ethan asked. "Race girls before wooing them?"

"You tell me brother," Luther said. "After all, you and Claire had-"

"Oh look. Bikes."

Mountain bikers were coming up the path. Ethan remained silent as Bond let Xenia take the open lane, giving up his lead. Remained silent as he watched the bikers fall over, even as Luther laughed. Claire. He didn't want to think about Claire. Not now. Not ever.

"Well, my girl's ahead," Luther said. "And…huh."

Ethan watched as the Aston Martin screeched to a halt, as the Ferrari kept going on down the road. Remained silent as Luther looked at him.

"So, er…"

Ethan slid the money over. He laid back in his seat as his friend slid it into his pocket. Small change for both of them. But it was more than that. It was always more than that.

"Y'know what you need?" Luther asked. "A holiday."

Bloody hell.

"I mean seriously man, it's been a year, and you still look like Kittridge is after you." He slapped Ethan on the shoulder. "Spain. Canada. Heck, Kenya. Get a car, drive down the road, and get a girl of your own."

"Huh," Ethan murmured. "And, um, win the race of course."

"High speed trains and helicopters? Heck, a car is practically a tricycle at this point."

Ethan smirked, and looked at his watch. Ten minutes. Time for that meeting.

"Gotta go," he said. "And I'm not cutting my hair."