War Games (S2E6): 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.  🙂

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The mission was over, but there were no flights leaving Sardavia until the next morning.  The team was forced to check into a hotel for the night.  Shannon got a room to herself, while Grant paired off with Jim and Max paired off with Nicholas.

They'd only had twenty-four hours to complete the mission, and none of them had gotten any sleep the previous night.  So, even though it was barely five o'clock in the evening when they'd checked in, it wasn't long before everyone was sleeping soundly.

A few hours later, Nicholas suddenly woke.  At first, he wasn't sure what had woken him -- he didn't remember having had any sort of dream.  As he contemplated going back to sleep, he heard a sound coming from the queen-sized bed next to his.

"Stefan Lettner....." Max mumbled.  "Twenty-first...Light Infantry..."

Nicholas sat up in bed and waited for a moment.  It sounded like Max was just talking in his sleep.  If so, he didn't want to disturb him by turning on the light.  When Max grew quiet again, the dark-haired agent laid back down and closed his eyes.

But in the very next moment, he heard Max's voice once again -- still quiet but now whimpering.

"I told you...Stefan Lettner.... twenty-first...confused...."

Nicholas sat up a second time,  switched on the bedside lamp, and looked at his friend.  Max was lying on his left side, facing Nicholas, still sleeping but with a troubled expression on his face.

Nicholas hopped off his bed and sat down on Max's.  He laid a hand on the blond's shoulder and shook it gently.

"Max," he whispered softly, "wake up."

Max responded to his friend's touch by cowering, drawing up his knees into a near-fetal position, and whimpering louder. "No!... please stop!..."

Worried now, Nicholas shook Max's shoulder more forcefully.  "Wake up, Max!" he pleaded.

Suddenly, Max's eyes popped open wide, but though he was looking straight at Nicholas, the dark-haired agent knew he was not yet seeing him.

Max continued to whimper softly, his breath coming in heavy gasps, and shrunk further into his bed, trying to get away from Nicholas' touch.  But Nicholas did not let go.

"Max, can you hear me?  It's Nicholas.  Wake up."  His voice was gentle but insistent, as he squeezed Max's shoulder a little tighter.

Finally, he saw a look of recognition creep back into his friend's eyes, though he was still breathing heavily.  Nicholas smiled slightly.  "That's it," he said reassuringly.  

"Nicholas?" Max questioned uncertainly, still caught somewhere between his dream world and reality.  He reached up to grasp his friend's arm, just to make sure he was actually there.

"Yeah, it's me.  You're safe now, Max.  Just take it easy."

Nicholas continued to offer soft words of reassurance until Max's breathing slowed a moment later.  "I'm okay now," he assured his friend.

"Are you sure?" Nicholas asked, his voice still thick with concern.

A ghost of a smile creeped across Max's lips.  "Yeah," he answered, giving Nicholas' arm an affectionate pat.  "Thanks, buddy."

Max did not seem inclined to talk about what had just occurred.  He started to reach over and turn off the light.  But Nicholas wasn't moving back to his own bed just yet.

"Max, wait."

"What is it?"  Max's eyes blinked rapidly; he was nervous, and Nicholas knew it.

The dark-haired agent sighed deeply.  "The beating you took at the stockade," he answered, his voice quiet.  "It was worse than you told us, wasn't it?"

Max looked quizzically at his friend, but did not answer.

"You were talking in your sleep," Nicholas explained.  "You mentioned a name. Stefan Lettner.  The alias Jim gave you."

Max cursed to himself and averted his eyes.  He didn't want to talk about this.  At least not now.

"Max, talk to me," he persisted, placing his hand back on Max's shoulder where it had been a moment before.

"It doesn't matter, Nicholas," Max whispered.

"It does matter," Nicholas countered.  "The only way to work through things is to talk about them.  It's the whole reason we debrief.  You know this, Max."

Max sighed in exasperation.  "I know," he conceded, his voice still quiet and his eyes downcast, "but I can't tell Jim about this.  He'll think I can't handle things."

"I'm not Jim," Nicholas reminded him.  "I'm not going to say anything.  And I know you can handle things."  He squeezed Max's shoulder reassuringly.

Max suddenly became uncomfortably aware that his shirt was damp with perspiration.  He sat up on the edge of the bed beside his friend, then stood up and headed for the bureau upon which he and Nicholas had laid their suitcases.

Nicholas watched as Max unzipped his suitcase and took out a clean T-shirt.  Then he removed the sweat-soaked garment he was wearing, wincing slightly as he did so, and Nicholas sucked in his breath sharply.  There were few places on Max's back where his skin was not marred by bruising, and a quick glance at his reflection in the large mirror told Nicholas that his chest looked the same way.

"Max!" Nicholas gasped.  He rose from the bed and was beside his friend before he could put on the clean shirt.  "My God!  What have they done to you?"

"It's nothing," said Max dismissively, pulling his shirt on hurriedly before Nicholas could take a closer look at his wounds.

"Nothing, hell!" the dark-haired agent retorted, mildly irritated at his stubborn teammate.  Then his voice softened.  "You must be in a lot of pain," he added empathically.

"Not really," Max lied, walking back toward his bed.

"Please, Max," Nicholas begged, grabbing Max's shoulder and stopping him in his tracks.  "Talk to me.  Tell me what happened."

Max sighed heavily, realizing that his worried friend was not going to let this go.  "Fine, Nicholas," he acquiesced.  "We'll talk in the morning, I promise.  Now go back to sleep."

"There won't be time."  Nicholas persisted.  "We leave for the airport at seven.  Besides," he said knowingly, "I don't think either of us will be sleeping till we talk this through."

Max turned to meet his teammate's troubled gaze and sighed once again, this time in resignation.  "All right," he nodded.   He sat down on the edge of his bed, and Nicholas plopped down beside him as Max began to speak.

*****

As Nicholas listened intently, Max recounted his encounter with Lieutenant Udo and his men -- how he was thrown against a tank, punched repeatedly, then handcuffed and led to the stockade.  There, the interrogation continued; though Max remembered his training and maintained his cover story, each question he refused to answer was followed by another round of merciless beating.  Finally, Udo threw Max against the wall of his tiny cell and pointed a gun at the blond agent's mouth.  Max knew that it was only the lieutenant's desperate curiosity as to his real purpose there that kept him from pulling the trigger.

"Oh, Max," Nicholas sighed, and his stomach lurched in sympathy.

"I wasn't afraid of dying," Max finished.  "I knew that if I could just get to the window, I could take off the button and put it outside.  I knew that it would transmit a signal to Grant, and he'd get me out of there.  We were prepared for that."  Max shuddered involuntarily.  "They just wouldn't stop hitting me."

Max stood up and walked to the window of their third-story room, running his hands through his hair as he looked outside.  Behind him, he heard the shuffling of Nicholas' feet, and a moment later he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

Max turned his head slightly and gazed at his friend.  "I've been beaten up by the bad guys plenty of times," he shrugged.  "It's part of the job.  But, for whatever reason, this time it bothered me."

"I understand," Nicholas whispered in response.  "Thank you for telling me.  What can I do to help?"

Max thought about this for a moment, then he turned around and patted Nicholas' shoulder affectionately.  "I think you already have," he answered, smiling slightly, "just by listening."

Nicholas grinned in response, for he could see that a hint of a sparkle had returned to Max's bright blue eyes. "Told you."

Max tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.  "I think I could go back to sleep," he advised, "and so should you."  He paused briefly.  "I don't think I'll have any more nightmares," he said earnestly.  Even though he had no explanation as to why it was so, just sharing his story with his teammate had taken away the lion's share of Max's anxiety.  He felt like he'd shed a fifty-pound burden.

"Well, I certainly hope not," Nicholas replied, "but I'm here if you do."

"Thanks for everything, pal," Max smiled warmly, as he gave his friend a sideways hug.

The two men returned to their beds, and the blond agent flipped off the light.

Max went back to sleep right away; Nicholas stayed awake a bit longer, listening for any signs that the dreams had returned.  But they did not, and soon Nicholas, too, was sleeping soundly.  Neither man roused until the alarm went off the next morning, signaling that it was time to head for home.

The End.

(c) 2022

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