The Last Game

Epilogue Part Two

Wow, I was so amazed by the response to the latest chapter, and so grateful! You guys don't know how great it felt to be welcomed back, and to know that there's still people out there interested in this little piece. Thank you all! I would have responded personally to every reviewer, but I've spent all my energy in the last couple of days in finishing up this chapter, which will be the last. There is a trigger warning for discussion of suicide and other dark topics.

Hope you all enjoy! :)

Will stared down at the white pills cradled in the palm of his hand with eyes that were stinging and bloodshot from hours of helpless crying. His nose was stuffy and his head throbbed, and all he wanted was for the day to be over. Fucking Ethan. Why did he have to be such a busy-body? Why couldn't Will have fallen for a normal god-damn human being?

His gaze tacked blearily over to the prescription bottle sitting beside his sink, and a dark thought rose in his brain, like a bloated corpse floating up from beneath the waters of a lake: take them all, and the pain would never come back. Remembering the look in Ethan's eyes as Will shouted at him, death was starting to look better and better by the minute.

He hesitated, unable to take his eyes off the bottle now that the possibility had presented itself. His hand shook, and he didn't quite understand why. It wasn't as though he had never considered suicide before – hell, more than considered, he'd actually tried it. In his final year of high school, overworked, under pressure, and trying to cope with the revelation of his sexuality and the massive disapproval of his parents and community, he had slipped a rope around his neck and hung himself from the ceiling fan of his room. Fortunately, the craftsmanship of the fan was sub-par; it broke, and rather than strangling himself, all Will got was a concussion from hitting his head on the corner of his desk. His father, finding him bleeding and confused, coaxed the story out of him and suggested an alternative to ending his own life: service in the military. Will never looked back.

For a while, life was good. In the military, and subsequently the IMF, he found friends, comrades, siblings, people who accepted him for who he was. He didn't spread the word around that he was gay, but he didn't hide it if asked, either. Jane had known (it was impossible to keep anything from her, really) and had nearly driven him insane trying to set him with guys she knew. He never confided in her about Ethan, and now he wasn't sure if he regretted that or not. It would have been nice if one other person on earth had known the truth that he was going to take to his grave.

After Croatia, however, all his hard-won confidence and self-esteem had just gone flying right out the window. He had become a nervous wreck, unsuitable for anything but sitting behind a desk, pushing papers. If it hadn't been for the Secretary picking him up – adopting him, practically – Will's career would have been flushed down the toilet faster than Ethan on a motorcycle.

Ethan. It all came back to him. Sometimes Will thought that Ethan was the whole reason he had been born in the first place. The man was like a beacon: brighter and more charismatic than anyone else he'd ever met. The lyrics from James Dean by the Eagles flashed through his mind – 'Too fast to live, too young to die'. That was Ethan in a nutshell.

Once Will was gone, the burden of guilt on Ethan's shoulders would be lifted. Sure, he would hurt for a while. Failure always rankled for Ethan, and Will was a living representation of failure. But he'd get over it, and remember how to smile again, and Will wouldn't have to endure the purgatory of loving him anymore.

He reached for the pill bottle, but as he raised it to his mouth, there was a crashing sound from downstairs, as though something large and heavy had been thrown through a window. Instantly alert, Will dropped the pills in the sink and ran out into the bedroom to grab his gun and flashlight from the sock drawer. Flicking the safety off, he moved in a noiseless crouch towards the landing, casting the beam of light two and fro. All thoughts of his own demise had been drowned out by the adrenaline pulsing through his veins.

There was a human-sized shadow at the bottom of the stairs. The intruder didn't appear to be moving, but Will wasn't taking any chances. Shining the flashlight directly into the figure's face, he snapped, "Freeze, asshole. Hands in the air. I will shoot you."

But the white glow revealed no burglar, no assassin – only Ethan Hunt, screwing up his eyes against the glare. Will dropped his arms, all the fight going out of him in a rush of relief and confusion.

"I could have killed you, you know," he said. "You're lucky I'm not the shoot-first-ask-questions-later type."

Ethan said nothing. Will turned on the light in the hallway and stood leaning against the wall.

"Want to explain?" he asked, and then, "Hey, whoa, what the fuck? Ethan!" For Ethan was pulling out his smartphone, dialing a familiar combination of three numbers.

"I need an ambulance!" he shouted into the speaker. "Hurry! The address is-"

Outraged, Will marched down the stairs and snatched the phone away from him. "Cancel that," he said. "Everything's fine here. My friend is really drunk and thought this would be a good prank. Sorry. I've got the situation in hand now." A wild glare at Ethan prevented him from reclaiming his phone.

Once the 911 operator was satisfied that there really was no emergency, Will hung up, keeping hold of Ethan's phone just in case. Crossing his arms, he fixed his friend with a firm stare and said, "So?"

"How many did you take?" Ethan's voice was strained.

Will frowned. "How many what?"

"Pills, you idiot. How many?"

"As a matter of fact," said Will, "I didn't get to take any, thanks to a home invasion by a certain jackass who will go unnamed."

"Oh thank God!" Ethan breathed. Will, focused on the crisis as he was, hadn't noticed until now how awful Ethan looked: pale-faced, trembling, as though he'd just received the fright of his life.

Making an abrupt decision, he said, "Want something to drink? Tea?" Ethan nodded gratefully, and he said, "Come on, then," and headed for the kitchen.

Several minutes later, they were facing each other across the island, both with a steaming mug in hand. Will said, "This has got to be one of the strangest evenings I've ever had. Seriously, Ethan, you owe me an explanation. Right now."

Ethan took a big slurp of his tea, grimacing as the hot liquid scorched his tongue. His gaze darted around the room, lighting in turn on the microwave, the pristine stovetop (Will almost never cooked in his own home, preferring to order takeout), the fridge free of any personal touches such as photos or magnets, the bowl of fruit and granola bars, and back to the microwave again. In other words, he was looking everywhere but at Will, which was very unusual. Ethan was not the sort of man who had difficulty with eye contact.

"I'm sorry, Will," he said at last, sounding defeated. "I'm really, really sorry."

Somehow, Will got the idea that this apology covered more than just the break-in. He shrugged and said, "What for?"

"Everything," said Ethan, confirming his guess. "I know you've never forgiven me for letting you believe Julia was dead. Hell, I don't deserve your forgiveness – for that, or anything. I used you, Will, and I'm sorry. God, you don't know how sorry I am." He scrubbed at his face with a weary hand.

"It's all in the past now," Will said. "I've moved on." It was a lie, of course, but what was he supposed to say? 'Yeah, Ethan, you fucked up, and it still keeps me up at night? I was a nervous wreck for years, thanks to you, but I'm such a sad sap that I'm crazy about you anyway?' That would go over well.

For just a moment, Ethan's eyes darted up to meet his, and the glimpse of raw emotion that Will saw there nearly took his breath away. This was not the Hunt that he knew: the team leader, the thrill seeker, the man whose smile was like the sun coming out.

"I get why you did it," he said. "You had to keep her safe, and I was just collateral damage. I know it wasn't personal, Ethan." Unspoken, he added, If you were anyone else, I wouldn't care.

"God damnit, Will, you are not just 'collateral damage' to me!" Ethan exclaimed.

"Maybe not now," Will admitted, "but at the time, I was. And that's the way it should be. She's your wife, and I was just some random agent. For the last time, I don't hold it against you. I just … damn, I just wish you had told me, that's all. I know why you didn't, but I wish you'd been able to trust me. I would have died to keep your secret."

"Was," was all Ethan said, with emphasis, like it meant something.

"Pardon?" said Will.

"She was my wife," he clarified.

"You mean …"

"We're divorced. It was for both our sakes, and we parted on good terms. I married her because I wanted a normal life, but I just wasn't cut out for normalcy. It wasn't fair on her, having a husband who was never home, who could die at any time in some far-off corner of the world. A husband who couldn't even acknowledge her existence for fear that someone would try to snuff it out."

Will felt as though his whole world was turning upside down, and something dangerously like hope began to flower in his chest. "You're … not married anymore."

Ethan shook his head. "Nope. Haven't been for about a year now. Right before the IMF breakup, actually."

"Well," mumbled Will, at a total loss for words. "Okay, then." The selfish side of him couldn't help but feel glad about it. At least now he could fantasize about a life with Ethan without the added discomfort of excising his wife from the mental picture.

"Yup," said Ethan. He appeared to be just as tongue-tied.

They stood in silence for a few moments before Will said, "So, is that it for you? Relationship-wise, I mean?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he could have slapped himself.

Ethan looked surprised, but all he said was, "I think I could give it another go – if it was the right person."

Will nodded. There was nothing to say. He had no idea who the 'right person' was in Ethan's mind, but it sure as hell wasn't him, train-wreck of a human being that he was.

Ethan said, "Listen, Will – about today … I was out of line. I shouldn't have approached you like that. It wasn't fair."

"It's okay," Will muttered. "I regret the way I acted as well. It's just … you have no idea how … how hard it is …" He stopped himself before he could open the floodgates and let everything out.

"I do, Will, I get it!" Ethan's expression was earnest and eager – not a joyful kind of eagerness, but a fierce desperate kind, like he was yearning for something essential. The fire in Will's breast burned a little hotter.

"You get it?" he repeated. "How could you possibly understand how I feel?" He hadn't intended the words to come out so cutting. Ethan's face fell, and Will felt as though he had slapped a child. He sighed, feeling as worn out as Ethan looked.

"How did you know about the pills?" he asked. "And don't lie and say that it was luck or something. If you hadn't come barging in just then, I'd probably be dead by now."

Ethan groaned. "So you were going to … Will, why didn't you call me? Or if not me, than Benji, Luther – God, anyone!"

Will almost said, 'I didn't call you because you're the reason I'm feeling suicidal, dumbass!' He shook his head. "I don't know, Ethan, I wasn't thinking straight. I've been in a really dark place lately, mentally."

"I know," said Ethan. When Will stared at him with raised eyebrows, he said, "I put bugs in your house. Cameras, microphones. They link up to my phone. Don't worry, no one else has access to them, but-"

"That's not the fucking point!" Will exploded, slamming down his cup of tea so hard that the handle cracked off. "You can't just violate my privacy like that, Ethan! For God's sake, what … when … why would you do that?"

"I broke in a few days after you stopped answering my calls. I know it was wrong, but I was so worried about you, and I had no other way of making sure you were okay. I'll, uh … I'll remove them, if you want."

"Yes, fucking Christ …"

"On one condition, though. You have to promise me that if you're ever feeling suicidal again, you'll call someone for help. I don't care who it is as long as it's someone you can trust. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Fine, Ethan. If it means that much to you-"

"It does." The old glint of defiance was back in Ethan's eye; the same glint he'd had when he told Benji to reprogram the case containing the missile launch codes, or when he'd left them all behind to go haring after Ilsa on a high speed chase. Will was quite familiar with it, and knew that it meant nothing but trouble.

"Then … thanks, I guess," he said. "For caring. Even if you do show it in the weirdest ways."

"How would you rather I show it?"

Will blinked. To his embarrassment, a faint heat rose in his cheeks. He hoped it wasn't visible in the dim lighting. Was it his imagination, or was there something suggestive about the way Ethan was looking at him now?

"I don't know," he said cautiously. "How about not bugging my house, for starters?"

Ethan had the good grace to look ashamed. "Yeah, I guess I went a little too far. But Will, you have to understand – if anything happened to you, I don't know what I'd do."

There was a roaring noise in Will's ears, as though a hurricane-force wind had suddenly decided to sweep through his kitchen. His vision swam, darkened; for a moment, he was back in a cramped, lightless room in London with Ethan crouched by his side. "You're the last person on earth I would ever have wanted to be hurt that way." He hadn't understood the meaning of it at the time.

Strong hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him back to the present. Ethan's worried gaze locked on his. "Will? What's wrong? You're shaking. Are you okay?"

He tried to speak, but the words came out breathy and disjointed. "Sorry, just … happens sometimes … flashback and all that … my doc says I have PTSD. From, you know … from Lane." Even saying the name caused a surge of bile in his throat, and he shuddered.

Ethan said, "It's okay, Will, you don't have to talk about it."

"Yes, I do, because if I don't, I'll just be stuck here in limbo forever. Ethan, you deserve to know … the reason I kept away from you was because I couldn't stand that you had seen me like that."

"Will … if you think I'm judging you …"

"No," Will said, "but you can't deny that something has changed. You don't look at me the same way you used to before …" He trailed off. His psychiatrist had tried to coach him on something called 'labeling' – calling it 'the rape' rather than using euphemisms like 'the assault' or his favorite, 'London'. Will could almost hear her now: "It's okay to call it what it was, William. Keeping it hidden will only give it power over you."

Ethan was looking dismayed. "That has nothing to do with what Lane did to you, Will!" he protested. "God, I had no idea you thought that!"

"Well, what am I supposed to think?" he muttered. "You used to treat me like just another member of the team, no different from Benji or Luther – or hell, even Jane for that matter. Then London happens, and suddenly you're putting cameras in my house and acting like I'm made of glass! What gives, Ethan?"

"It's not about you, it's about me." Will snorted, and he said, with a touch of defensiveness, "Yeah, I know, oldest saying in the book, right? But I mean it, Will. I realized some things about myself after London, and it kind of changed the way I felt – feel, that is – regarding our relationship."

His hands were still resting on Will's shoulders, and his fingers were gently working the muscles there, squeezing and relaxing in a way that Ethan himself didn't seem to be aware of. Will took a deep breath.

"Does this have anything to do with what you were going to tell me back then, but never did? When I asked why you couldn't leave me with Lane?"

"It has everything to do with that," said Ethan. "Will, I … I'm in love with you."

Will stared blankly at him. "Ethan, if this is a joke-"

"No joke. I love you. I have for a long time, but it took the IMF disbanding to make me figure it out. I was gonna tell you when we met back up again, but there wasn't time to do it right, with the pressure we were under … and then Lane took you, and I … I just lost it, Will. I couldn't accept that I had failed to save you in time."

"Now you know how I felt after your wife died. After I thought she died."

"Yeah," said Ethan. "But that wasn't your fault."

"And what happened to me wasn't your fault, either. No, listen to me, Ethan. Remember when you told me that it could just as easily have been Benji who was taken, or you? Well, you were right. I wasn't chosen for any other reason than that I was convenient. Or hell, maybe the twisted fuck picked me in particular, but either way, there was nothing you could have done to prevent it. Nothing, you hear me?"

Ethan was looking at him in amazement. He said, "You're so sweet, Will. You've been through hell, and here you're trying to make me feel better about it."

Will blushed, looking away. "Yeah, well. Can't have been easy on you, either. Especially when I cut you off like that. I'm sorry. I didn't know … I would never have guessed you felt that way about me, of all people! I mean, Christ, you were married! To a woman, I might add! Was that a … a cover or something?"

"No," said Ethan. "I've never had a problem with homosexuality – I was raised by very open-minded parents – but I always thought I was straight. I might still be, actually; I'm not sure. I've never felt attracted to a man before, but you …"

Will chuckled weakly. "I've heard a lot of pick-up lines in my time, Ethan, but 'you're so hot you've turned me gay' is a new one for me."

Ethan was blushing now too, and the crimson color blended beautifully with his tanned skin. He leaned forward a little, like he was thinking of swooping in for a kiss, but then he backed away again, hesitancy written all over his bold, handsome features.

"Is this okay?" he asked. "I have no fucking clue what I'm doing, to be honest. After all you've been through, the last thing I want to do is hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable."

"You've been honest with me," said Will, "so I'll return the favor. This won't be easy. I'm still pretty fucked up. Uh … I'd rather not go into detail, but … let's just say that I haven't had sex in a while and it might be a long time before I'm ready to. So if you just want to experiment with something new and different, forget it. I'm not your guy. But-" He held up a hand to forestall Ethan's wounded protest. "-if you were serious when you said you're in love, then … I'd be willing to give it a shot. I've uh, had a thing for you for a while now, so … it's not like I've never thought about it. Just … let's take it slow, okay?"

"Okay," Ethan agreed. He smiled, and it was so infectious that Will couldn't help but smile back. They stood there grinning at each other like idiots for a couple of minutes, until their moment of bliss was rudely cut short by the wail of sirens coming down the street. It turned out that Will's neighbor had heard the breaking window and helpfully called the cops.

Fortunately, the evening did not end in Ethan being dragged off to jail, though he did promise to contact the repairman first thing in the morning. It was well past midnight by this time, and Will's long day was catching up with him in the form of an inability to keep his eyes open any longer. Ethan steered him over to the couch and turned the TV on with muted volume. Will fell asleep that night with his head pillowed on Ethan's lap, Ethan's fingers combing through his hair, his belly occasionally shaking with laughter at whatever show he was watching.

Will had never been happier in his life.

So, what do you guys think? ;) I know I had to stretch credibility on a few points, but hey, that's what fiction is all about, right? Thank you all so much for reading! :D