The Golden Serpent Part 2 (S2E2): Missing Scenes

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.  🙂

*****

By the time Jim reached the back of the Opera House, Nicholas was already wearing the mask.  He was also a nervous wreck, and not just because of his upcoming meeting with Prince Selimun.  When last he'd seen Max, the blond agent was about to tangle with Selimun's bodyguard, ten stories above the ocean.

"Is Max okay?" Nicholas demanded, as soon as his team leader came into sight.

"He's fine," Jim answered, chuckling softly to himself at his teammate's propensity for worry.  "The parachute did its job."

"Parachute?"  Nicholas cried incredulously, for he hadn't known Max was wearing one.

In response, Jim put a finger to his lips and prepared to round the corner of the building.  Shannon and Selimun were on their way.

*****

Grant had his speedboat at full throttle, heading straight for the pier, with the Prince's men keeping pace right behind him.  "Hang on!" he yelled to Max, then he suddenly wrenched the wheel to the left as hard as he could.

The Prince's men could not react in time.

The subsequent explosion was deafening as the blue speedboat hit the edge of the pier.  The blast echoed in Grant's ears and the boat shook slightly as he and Max sped safely away.

"You all right back there?" Grant called out, without turning around.

"I'm good."  It wasn't exactly true; Max's head pounded with every beat of his racing heart, which he was certain wasn't helping his bleeding leg, either.

After a few moments, Grant reached the shore.  He jumped out of the boat and hastily secured it to the pier.  Max stood up and tried to exit the boat under his own power, but was hit by a stabbing pain in his leg and almost lost his balance.

Quickly, Grant helped his teammate onto the pier.  Max slung an arm around Grant's shoulders and allowed his friend to support him as they made their way inside.

"I need to patch up that leg," Grant advised, as he reached for the first aid kit.  "You'll have to get out of those jeans."

"Right," answered Max.

"It'll probably hurt like hell," said Grant sympathetically.

Max said nothing, but he gritted his teeth and sucked in his breath sharply as he pulled the denim away from the wound and let his jeans fall to the floor.

Max braced himself against a nearby shelf as Grant knelt down to inspect the gash, now freshly aggravated and bleeding once more.  He gently wiped away the blood to reveal the injured skin underneath.

"The cut's not wide, but it's pretty deep.  There's a bit of muscle damage."  Grant looked up at his friend.  "Good thing you didn't nick a major blood vessel.  What got you?"

"Ponytail was throwing shurikens at me," Max replied, and Grant whistled.

"I'll put some ointment and a patch on it, then I'll wrap it up," Grant explained.  "The compression will help your muscle heal."

Max nodded silently and allowed his teammate to do his work.  When he was finished, he stood up, and Max clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Thanks, Grant.  And thanks for saving my bacon back there."

Grant smiled.  "Somebody's got to keep your bacon out of trouble," he retorted.

Max stepped into the other room to slip on a fresh pair of jeans.  When he emerged once again, his face was slightly flushed, and there was fresh pain in his eyes.

"It hurts to bend my leg," he reported with a grimace.

"It's probably best if you keep it stretched out until your muscle heals a bit," Grant responded.

As Max sat down in a nearby chair, Grant swung another chair around to face him.  The blond agent stretched out his injured leg, using the second chair as a footstool.  He smiled his thanks.

Grant returned his smile, but then his face sobered as he took a seat beside his friend.  "There's something I need to tell you, Max."

Max looked at Grant quizzically.  "What is it, Grant?"

Grant looked down at his hands.  "Back in the grotto," he answered, his voice low and trembling slightly as he recalled his last few moments with his father, and how he had shrugged off Max's offerings of comfort and support.  "You were such a good friend to me.  And I was such a jerk."  The Black agent looked up, and his moist brown eyes locked with Max's blue ones.  "Can you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, Grant," Max replied instantly.  "Anybody would have felt the same way."  Max laid a hand on Grant's shoulder once again.  "I'm really sorry about your dad."

"Yeah," Grant agreed.  "Me too."  Relieved, despite his sadness, that Max bore no hard feelings, Grant reached an arm around to give his friend an affectionate back slap.

Suddenly, the front door opened and Nicholas and Jim stepped inside.

"How'd it go?" Grant queried.

"Oh, it was a nice little family reunion," Jim grinned wittily, as Nicholas walked over to where Max was sitting.

"What happened?" he asked quietly, his voice betraying his concern as he nodded toward Max's propped-up leg.

"Had a fight with a shuriken," Max quipped.

"Ouch," Nicholas winced in empathy.

"It's not so bad," the blond said reassuringly, trying to alleviate his friend's anxiety.  "Grant fixed me right up," he added, casting a grateful glance at his other teammate.

"And what's this I hear about a parachute?" the dark-haired agent continued.  "I didn't even know you were wearing one."

"You were still placing the squibs when I came back here to get ready. Jim suggested I put it on."  Max gave Nicholas a sideways grin.  "Just in case someone thought I needed to take a swim."

Nicholas stifled a shudder as he realized what must have happened - that Max, wounded, had fallen off the bridge, with nothing but his parachute between him and a watery grave.  He sighed heavily.  "Thank goodness for that," he said gratefully.  He reached over to give Max's shoulder a firm squeeze.  "I'm glad you're okay, Max."

"Thanks, buddy," the blond agent smiled, patting his concerned friend's arm in response.

The End

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