Gunslinger (S2E14): Episode Tag

Disclaimer:  I do not own either of the Mission: Impossible series or any of the characters therein.  I receive no compensation or any other tangible benefit from this story.  I am just a fan who enjoys taking the team out for an adventure every now and then.  🙂

*****

Chapter 1

Nicholas Black's mind was racing as he drove his BMW toward the condo on the south side of the city. His brow was furrowed, his lips locked into a worried frown. His hands were clenched so tightly around the steering wheel that his knuckles were white.

He had to talk to Jim. Jim would know what to do.

*******

Two nights ago, the team had returned to San Francisco from Boston, where they'd shut down a corrupt doctor who'd used his prestigious stress clinic to turn innocent people into assassins, and then sold his services to the highest bidder.

But this mission had been one of their toughest. It was Nicholas' job to become Westerly's patient, and in so doing he had unwittingly subjected himself to the sophisticated mind control. Not only had he narrowly averted executing the President of West Africa, but he had attacked Shannon and pointed a gun at his team leader.

It was Max who'd spotted him. Max who'd stopped him. Max who was the first face he'd seen when the brainwashing faded out.

It was Max who fussed over Nicholas all the way back to California, who promised to call his friend first thing the next morning to see how he was doing.

But Max hadn't called.

At first, Nicholas hadn't worried much. They had been late getting back, after all, and Max had probably slept in. But as the day wore on, it started to gnaw at Nicholas that he hadn't heard from his friend. So Nicholas had tried to call, but had gotten no answer.

Grant and Shannon had both called to check in on the dark-haired agent. Nicholas had casually asked each of them if they'd heard from Max. Neither of them had.

By nightfall, the nagging feeling that something wasn't right had mushroomed, and Nicholas couldn't get Max off his mind. He tried to call once again but still got no answer, so he got into his car and drove to Max's place. Both Max's car and his motorcycle were in the driveway, but no one answered the door. Nicholas had even dug the spare key out of its hiding place and gone inside - just to make sure that Max wasn't sick or hurt and unable to get to the phone. But the apartment had been empty. And Max's bed hadn't been slept in.

Nicholas had resisted the urge to contact Jim immediately, trying to comfort himself with the rational words he knew he would hear from the elder agent. "I'm sure Max is fine. He's probably just out having a good time, maybe even hanging out with some friends." Except Nicholas knew that outside the team, Max didn't really have any friends.

Instead, Nicholas had told himself that everything would be all right in the morning and had tried to soothe himself to sleep. It had worked, but not well. And when the morning had again yielded no response from Nicholas' phone call, the dark-haired agent could take it no more.

*******

Nicholas pulled up slowly in front of Jim's condo. As he opened the driver's door, his keen hearing detected faint voices coming from inside. He couldn't understand the words at first; he could only hear well enough to discern that there were two voices, both distinctly male. But then his eyes fell on an open window on the left side of the building.

Nicholas knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, but curiosity got the better of him. He silently eased the car door closed. Then he crept over to the open pane, crouched beneath it, and listened.

*******

"What is the meaning of this, Max?" Jim demanded sternly. "Public intoxication? Disorderly conduct?" He held the police report in one hand, smacking it emphatically with the back of the other to hammer his point home. "What were you thinking?"

Max sat in stoic silence, his eyes on Jim's hands rather than his face.

"Why, Max?" Jim asked, his voice a little calmer but still angry. "Tell me why."

"It's personal," Max growled, his voice barely audible, but his tone clearly signaling that he wasn't going to elaborate.

"You're part of the IMF, Max," Jim countered, his anger dissipating quickly, giving way to exasperation. "Nothing's completely personal. And you know as well as I do that IMF agents are held to a higher standard of conduct." Jim tapped the paper again. "This is more than enough to get someone dismissed from the team."

Max ran a hand through his blond hair nervously. "Jim, they're both misdemeanors," he said, his voice low, "and I've never been in trouble before. I'll have a hearing, and a fine, and that'll be it. I've already spent my night in jail. They won't send me back."

"You're probably right, Max, but they'll still be on your record, and I'll still have to explain things to the Secretary."

"I'm really sorry, Jim."

Jim looked at Max, and just like that the rest of Jim's anger vanished. The angry rebel sitting in front of him had disappeared, replaced by a remorseful little boy who'd just been caught doing mischief by his father.

"Look, Max," he said, with a soft sigh, "this mission was tough on us all, and I'm pretty sure I can smooth things over with the Secretary. But I won't be able to help you if this happens again."

"It won't," Max promised. "Thanks, Jim.”

Jim smiled slightly and gave Max an awkward, fatherly sort of pat on the shoulder. "Come on," he said, standing up, "I'll take you home."

Chapter 2

Nicholas' mind flooded with countless questions and emotions, but the one that superseded all of them was blind panic. He didn't want Max and Jim to know he'd been eavesdropping. Quickly, he scrambled back to his car, opened the driver's door, and sat down. By the time Max made his way out the door, it looked like the dark-haired agent had just pulled up.

"Nicholas!" Max greeted, his eyes wide with surprise.

"There you are," Nicholas responded, his voice reflecting genuine relief that Max was safe.

Jim emerged from his condo and spoke to Nicholas before Max had a chance to respond. "What are you doing here?" the elder agent asked.

"I came to ask you if you'd seen Max," he said truthfully. Then he turned to his blond friend and smiled slightly. "I didn't hear from you all day yesterday. I was starting to worry."

"Sorry, pal," Max said stiffly. "I had some things to take care of." He eyed Nicholas closely, trying to determine if the dark-haired agent had heard anything he shouldn't have. But Nicholas' expression was devoid of anything except mild concern, and he seemed to accept Max's explanation without question.

Then Max's voice softened as he remembered the reason he was supposed to talk to his friend the day before. "How are you doing, buddy?"

"I'm fine, Max," Nicholas smiled. Then his smile faded somewhat as he looked around. "I don't see your ride anywhere," he said vaguely.

Jim cleared his throat quickly. "I was just about to take him home," he said hastily, without further comment.

"I'll do it," Nicholas offered. "It's on my way."

Jim cast a glance at Max, who nodded tersely, though it seemed to Jim that he looked very uncomfortable.

"Very well, then," Jim said with a slight smile. "I'll see you both later." Then Jim went back inside, and Max folded his long legs into the passenger side of Nicholas' BMW.

*******

They were five minutes from their destination, and Max still hadn't spoken a word. Nicholas stole a glance or two at his blond friend, who seemed a million miles away. Finally, he could stand it no longer and broke the silence.

"Is everything all right, Max?"

Max became aware of Nicholas' voice only as he finished speaking. He turned his gaze from the window to his companion. "What did you say?"

"You seem to be thinking hard about something." Nicholas smiled, but there was gentle concern in his voice. "Just making sure you’re okay."

"I'm fine, pal," Max answered, though his voice was anything but reassuring. In truth, he wasn't fine, but he didn’t want Nicholas to know that.

"Are you sure there isn't anything you want to talk about?"

"I'm sure, Nicholas," he replied, making a conscious effort to sound more confident than he felt. He flashed a smile at his teammate. "But thank you."

"Well, if you change your mind," Nicholas offered, returning his smile as he pulled in front of Max's apartment, "you know where to find me."

The car came to a stop, and Max climbed out, closing the door behind him. He stuck his head through the open window. "Thanks for the ride, buddy," he grinned.

"You're welcome," Nicholas replied. "Call me later."

Max thumped the car door twice in response. Nicholas lingered long enough to make sure Max got inside, then he put his BMW in reverse and headed home.

*******

But even as Max's apartment disappeared from view, Nicholas' mind did not stray from his friend. Of course, he was relieved that Max was safe, but, if possible, he was more concerned about his blond teammate now than he had been earlier this morning.

Based on what he'd overheard, Nicholas knew that last night Max had been drunk, in some sort of fight, and then in jail. But what had prompted it?

Nicholas didn't remember much about the Boston mission; most of it had been explained to him at the debriefing. He could tell that Max had been deeply worried about him, but the blond had quickly dismissed his own feelings - or stuffed them. Was that what had driven him to drink? And why wouldn't he talk things over with Nicholas, the way they'd always done?

Maybe he just needed some time, Nicholas reasoned. That was reasonable. He would give his blond teammate a day or two, but then one way or another, Max was going to talk to him.

Chapter 3

But the team didn't even have time to get settled in at home before Jim called them out again.

This time they were headed to Pontiac, Nevada, to investigate a former Congressman suspected of killing an undercover FBI agent and supporting terrorism under the cover of a re-created Old West mining town.

But even from the briefing scene, things were strange.

Normally, Nicholas would save a seat on the couch for Max, who was typically the last to roll in. Today Nicholas had planned to wait outside Jim's condo for him, to intercept him before the mission and find out what was eating him. But Max was uncharacteristically early. By the time Nicholas arrived, Max had taken his place on the couch beside Grant, leaving the dark-haired agent sitting on the other couch by himself.

As the briefing progressed, Nicholas tried to make eye contact with Max, to no avail. What's more, on several occasions he caught his blond friend with a pensive scowl on his face.

As soon as the briefing was over, the five agents piled into Jim's Land Rover and headed for the airport for the short hop to Nevada. Again, Max sat with Grant, and Shannon with Jim, leaving Nicholas by himself. There was no time or opportunity for a private conversation.

When Max had a part to play – helping at McClintock’s ranch or flirting with Shannon to help her get close to Slade’s sidekick Carter – he did so with his characteristic finesse. Other times, the brooding silence returned. Nicholas noticed, though the others didn’t seem to, but each time he asked Max insisted that everything was fine.

The blond agent still appeared slightly distracted when he and Nicholas returned to the mine to set the explosives, but he forced himself to focus; they had only a scant few moments to finish their task before the end of Jim’s poker game.

And that's where the strange got stranger.

******

Max did his best to look busy while Slade's men were milling around close by. Once they had cleared out, he cast a glance toward his teammate, standing near the left-hand wall.

"Ready?" he called.

Nicholas looked up, then came walking toward his friend, who was already bent at the waist preparing to pick up one end of the heavy silver canister. Nicholas gingerly made his way to the other end of it, steadying himself by placing a hand on Max's back. The two men carried the canister to the left-hand wall and stacked it perpendicular to the others.

After taking a cursory glance around to make sure he wasn't being watched, Nicholas took out the vial, broke the seal, and poured it onto his black rubber gloves. Meanwhile, Max unzipped his white radiation suit and produced the special amber light Grant had given them. Nicholas rubbed the compound until it covered his gloves thoroughly, then he nodded toward Max, who turned on the light.

"Help me!" pleaded Nicholas, as he began to stagger around, his gloves glowing an eerie florescent blue.

"Oh, my God! Canister's broken!" uttered Max, adding to the ruse, as the amber light blinked slowly.

"Somebody help me!" repeated Nicholas, more urgently. "I'm burning!"

"Let's get out of here! Move!" cried Slade's men as one by one they broke into a run and headed for the mine exit.

Nicholas continued to shout for help, and the workers couldn't get out fast enough. Then Max popped up from the place where he'd been crouched down, waiting for the last one to leave.

Max jerked off his hood and looked quickly at his friend, who was doing the same. "You okay?" he asked, his voice tense.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Nicholas replied, mildly hostile, as he caught his breath. "Now, to set the explosives."

********

With that, the mission was all but over, but Nicholas couldn't get his mind off what had happened at the mine. Max had obviously been concerned enough about him to ask, but there was no reason why Nicholas wouldn't have been okay. The fake radiation exposure couldn't have hurt him. One of Slade's men had pushed him up against the equipment during their hasty exit; that hadn't hurt him, either, though it was the reason Nicholas' voice held an air of hostility when he answered.

At any rate, after the explosion, Nicholas’ blond teammate returned to his quiet brooding – a mood that had continued throughout the trip home. As the team finished up the customary debriefing, the scowl that had previously darkened Max’s face was present once again. It was obvious that something was bothering him, and Nicholas was determined to find out what it was.

Chapter 4

As soon as the debriefing was over, Max jumped into his car and headed toward his apartment without a word to anyone.

He glanced at his rear-view mirror and was not surprised to see Nicholas' BMW right behind him - after all, home was in the same direction for both of them. He was surprised, however, when the BMW followed him into his driveway.

A twinge of nervousness seized him as both men exited their vehicles. Max was the first to speak.

"Nicholas, what are you doing here?" he asked, mildly afraid of the answer. "Is everything all right?"

"No, Max, it's not all right," Nicholas responded, trying to keep his frustration in check, "and it hasn't been all right since Boston. We need to talk."

Max averted his eyes. "There's nothing to say," he muttered, as he turned and walked toward his apartment.

"Oh, I disagree, Max," countered Nicholas, as he stepped between his blond teammate and the front door. He forced Max to lock eyes with him, and Nicholas' own flashed fire. "I think there's plenty to say, and I'm not leaving here until we say it."

Max sighed heavily, knowing his dark-haired friend wasn't going to let this go. "Very well, then," he relented, reaching past Nicholas to stick his key in the keyhole. "Come on in."

The two men entered Max's home, and the blond agent promptly sat down on the couch. "So," he began, "what is it you wanted to talk about?"

Nicholas' sigh was somewhere between worry and exasperation. "Why don't we start with Pontiac," he answered, "down in the mine, just before we set the explosives." He plopped down beside Max. "When you asked me if I was okay."

"Was I not supposed to be concerned about you?" Max's voice was low.

"It's not that," Nicholas replied, matching his tone. "It just didn't make sense." His features darkened. ”But I have a feeling that it has something to do with whatever has been bothering you.”

“Nothing’s bothering me, Nicholas.” Max’s voice was quietly defensive.

Nicholas laid a hand on the taller man’s shoulder. “I know better than that, Max,” he countered softly, with concern heavy in his voice. “Please talk to me. I just want to help.”

Max felt a churning in the pit of his stomach, and there was a lengthy silence before he finally responded. "I just don't like the idea of you being in trouble," he explained, unable to meet his teammate's eyes, "even if it is just pretend."

Max’s words hit Nicholas like a punch in the gut. “What do you mean?”

A shudder passed visibly through Max's body as the images from Boston flashed through his mind like the ones on the videotape Westerly had shown to Nicholas. Struggling with his friend by the poolside, and again at the zoo...Feeling his friend's hands around his throat...Being forced to leave the clinic knowing he was leaving Nicholas in the hands of a mad killer...

“Down in the mine,” Max finally replied, “when you were calling for help…” Max looked down at his hands as his voice trailed off briefly. “I know that was planned. But your voice…” He looked up at his friend. “It was just like Boston. When I couldn’t break through the programming.”

Max pictured himself and the dark-haired agent clinging to the side of the pool, Max splashing water in his face and hearing Nicholas scream, “Leave me alone!” in that same, raspy voice.

“It brought everything back,” whispered Nicholas. It was a statement rather than a question.

"It never really went away,” Max admitted. “It's all I've been able to think about.” Nicholas, who'd seen him tremble, reached out to lay a warm hand on his friend's forearm, and felt the blond agent still shaking slightly.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier, at the debriefing?” he asked gently, making a conscious effort to keep his tone from sounding accusatory. “We could have worked through this.”

Max shrugged, rose to his feet, and walked to the other side of the room as he recalled the team’s discussion of the just-completed Boston mission. Of course, they had all been worried about their dark-haired teammate. But besides Nicholas, the team’s concern had been focused largely on Shannon, whom he had attacked on his way to the attempted assassination. Nobody seemed to realize how deeply Max had been affected by what his friend had been through. They'd all but forgotten the scene at the clinic's pool, when Nicholas had wrapped his hands around Max's throat and they'd both ended up upside down and soaking wet.

Max had said nothing, content to help his teammates work through their feelings, dismissing his own when Nicholas had asked.

“It didn’t seem important then,” he answered.

“But, clearly, it was important,” Nicholas realized, as he got up to follow Max, “and, all this time, it’s bothered you. Haunted you.”

Max gazed out the window, his back to his friend, and nodded silently.

"Is that why you ended up behind bars the night we got back to California?"

Max whirled around and looked wordlessly at Nicholas, his expression unreadable.

"That day at Jim's condo...the window was open. I heard everything."

Max's stomach lurched at the memory. So Nicholas knew, after all. Of course he wouldn't have given Max hell about it the way Jim had. That wasn't his way. But Max couldn't believe his friend hadn't said something about it before now.

Nicholas read the look on Max's face, and he shrugged. "I figured you’d come talk to me when you were ready, Max," he explained, laying a hand on the blond’s forearm once again.

Max sighed heavily and sat back down on the couch. "I guess I’m ready now." And he began to speak.

Chapter 5

They'd finished the Boston debriefing an hour before, as soon as they'd gotten back to San Francisco. Debriefings were typically very useful, as they allowed the team to work through any lingering emotional issues that might distract from future missions.

But Max still couldn’t get his mind off what had happened to Nicholas. He’d seen the haunted look, the lack of recognition, the uncharacteristic aggression in the dark-haired agent's eyes. He knew exactly what Westerly had done. And right now he just wanted to forget.

Max hadn't drunk to the point of oblivion in a long time. But he knew that was what he was going to do tonight. So he hailed a cab to McGregor's, to remove any temptation he might have to try to drive home afterward.

They didn't bother him till he was two drinks in.

"Hey, buddy."

Max turned around to see a tall, brown-haired man in a cowboy hat smiling at him, a half-smoked cigar in his mouth. "You're drinking like you lost your best friend."

Max knew better than to take the bait, but with his inhibitions already compromised he couldn't help himself.

"Not quite," he growled, as he finished off his drink and signaled for another, "but pretty damn close."

The man who'd spoken sat down on the empty barstool to Max's left, while another man, black-haired with a darker complexion, sat to Max's right. The darker man clapped his hand on Max's shoulder and leaned in close to the blond man’s ear.

“Awwww, look at him,” he drawled, the stench of stale booze emanating from his open lips. “I think he’s about to cry.”

“That whiskey might be a little too strong for him,” Cowboy Hat grinned. “Maybe we should buy him a glass of milk.” He took the cigar out of his mouth and extinguished it in Max’s glass as his friend guffawed loudly.

Max stood up suddenly, if a little shakily due to the alcohol he'd consumed, and his taunters were taken aback at his tall frame. They both took a step backward as Max scowled.

"You calling me a baby?"

The black-haired man threw the first punch. Max punched back, and then the entire place erupted into a free-for-all, with fists and words traded back and forth. Eventually, someone called the police, and the night ended with Max and a couple others being hauled in to sleep it off behind bars.

When Max woke up a few hours later, he was offered a phone call, but he turned it down. He knew he was facing charges, and he was embarrassed and ashamed about what had taken place. He couldn't face the condemnation that his team members would dish out if they knew. So he languished in his cell, with no visitors, until his twenty-four hours were complete. Then early the next morning, the deputy came and unlocked the door.

"Come on out, Mister Harte, you're free to go."

Max followed him to the front, where his personal belongings were returned to him. As he absently wondered how he was going to get home, the deputy answered his question.

"I took the liberty of calling your emergency contact," he announced. "He's waiting for you in the lobby."

Max's stomach dropped to his knees, for he knew exactly who they'd called. It was the same emergency contact for all four junior members of the IMF.

*******

"And that's why I didn't call you the day after we got back from Boston, and why I was at Jim's condo without my wheels the next morning," Max finished.

Nicholas was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, there was empathy in his voice.

“Max, I’m really sorry you went through all that,” the dark-haired agent said huskily, laying a gentle hand on Max's shoulder, his brown eyes moist and shining. “Boston, the mine, McGregor’s….” His voice trailed off.

“None of it was your fault, Nicholas,” Max assured him. “You couldn’t help what Westerly did to you.” The blond agent sighed heavily. “I just let my feelings get the better of me.”

“It happens to all of us, Max,” Nicholas said gently, “but it’s always better to work through your feelings than to try to drown them.” He gave Max’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I know it can be hard sometimes to share things with Jim and the others,” he reasoned, “but you know you can always come talk to me.”

For the first time since they’d returned from Pontiac, Max allowed a small grin to curl across his face. “Next time,” he promised, “I will.”

Nicholas returned his smile. “I take it you’re feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Max admitted. “Talking it out really did help.”

“It’s funny how that works, isn’t it?” Nicholas grinned, as he noticed the sparkle beginning to creep back into his friend’s eyes.

“Thanks, buddy,” Max said gratefully, reaching out to thump Nicholas’ shoulder. With the weight of the world lifted at last, he was finally able to relax and just enjoy his friend’s company for a little while.

The End

(c) 2022

*****

Author's Note:  There is a slash version to this story.  If you are interested, you may find it here.