Prompt: Bound

Title: Foiled Plans

Fandom: Mission: Impossible 3

Warnings: Torture, blood, violence, knives, losing consciousness

Word Count: 3,860

Author's Note: This is sorta an AU type thing... It honestly came to me super randomly so bear with me!

Synopsis: When a fluke sandstorm separates the pair of Agents who were monitoring the whereabouts of a known American terrorist, what was once a reconnaissance Mission quickly turns into a rescue Mission.

----

Foiled Plans

The wind whistles pass your clothed face, your hair and every other piece of you no doubt already covered in sand.

Sand.

The one thing that you've never really particularly liked, ever since you were a child, is the very thing that stretches for what appears to be forever, the threat of the rising sun looming on the horizon.

But though this particular Mission called for you and your Teammates to be located quite literally in the middle of nowhere for months on end, that's not to say that this desert was empty.

No, in fact, it's far from it.

What some might call a micro-city has been gradually building over the course of your observations - a key piece in your Mission objective.

See, the IMF had gotten word who knows how long ago, that a man by the name of Jerric Imming, a former lieutenant in the US Army, had been dishonorably discharged from service due to his rather... extremist antics.

"It would seem Imming's certainly made himself right at home," The man at your side chuckles over the wind, his voice being transmitted into your earpiece as he hands you the set of binoculars he'd been peering through, moments ago.

Raising them to your own gaze, you survey the scene below from where you're perched, the rock's rough surface, combined with the sand in your sleeves, a rather unpleasant feeling.

And your Partner certainly isn't wrong.

The American, clearly out of place amongst the other men gathered rather eagerly around him, is sitting beneath the shelter of one of the larger tents on the inside of the city, a glass of what appears to be whisky raised to his lips.

"They must be after something out here," You muse, swiveling your attention to the various military-grade vehicles sitting quietly on the outside of the tent circle, a fresh layer of sand atop their hoods. "Because they wouldn't have spent the last two, three months dragging all this equipment out here for nothing!"

"Natural resources, maybe? Precious metals?"

"Maybe. But why in the world would a terrorist be after..." You pause, mentally piecing together your own question. "Gold. He's looking for gold to fund his next attack."

"That would explain the amount of people he dragged out here, too," Ethan mumbles as he removes the goggles he'd been wearing, the wind and the sand momentarily dying down a bit. "More hands make light work."

"And it would be easy enough to send a group back into town, one at a time, to trade in their findings for cold, hard cash..."

Realization is beginning to sink in as you and your Partner sink back down the rocky outcrop, surprising for this area of desert, but good cover nonetheless.

"What do you think, Luther? Are we on to something or not?"

At this, a laugh just sounds in your ear, earning a shared look of annoyance between you and the man across from you.

"I mean, it all sounds plausible but we can't really act on anything until we have proof..." The hacker and comms specialist trails off, a grin working its way into his tone. "Proof that we could probably get by sneaking into one of those outer tents and taking a look. I guarantee you that's where they're storing their findings."

"But we haven't seen anyone go out yet. We haven't even seen any mining equipment."

"Shovels and a few small machines," Ethan hums, exchanging a knowing gaze with you. "They've got enough people to make it happen."

The sun is beginning to bathe the desert landscape in a warm glow, signaling your usual time to return to the safehouse.

But... maybe not quite yet...

"You've got to make your move sooner or later. There's a sandstorm headed your way, tracking northeast. The last thing we need is the both of you ending up somewhere where you certainly don't want to be," Luther informs, his tone carrying a warning edge to it.

"Great."

With a low grumble and a shared huff, you and your Partner turn towards the direction, your eyes widening in surprise.

There is indeed a storm moving towards the pair of you - the brown haze of a rolling dust cloud seeming to stretch along the horizon as far as you can see, the rising sun once more becoming dark.

"It's now or possibly never, E," You muse, tugging the scarf around your neck up around your mouth and nose, your own set of goggles being set back over your eyes. "We move it or lose it."

You can practically see the wheels turning in the mind of the man across from you, a stern frown gracing his lips, an occurrence that over the years you've known Ethan Hunt, you've seen far too often for your liking.

It's situations like this that you find yourself gradually becoming more and more aware of the dangers of the only career you've really ever known.

Well, you knew of the dangers when it was just you that you had to care about.

But now...

Ethan sighs heavily, passing you a determined glance that you know right well what it means.

"Let's see what Imming's been up to, then," He nods, the scarf that had been around his neck also being tugged up to protect and mask his facial features from the storm inevitably moving closer and closer by the second.

The wind is beginning to pick up once more, the prelude to what's about to come.

"Don't go any farther than the blue tent down there. If you don't check in when I comm after five minutes, I'm coming after you - regardless of any sandstorm, okay?"

You wordlessly nod, a sudden lump in your throat catching you off guard.

You've done thousands of ops like this, why become so nervous now?

"Same goes for you."

And Ethan holds your gaze, a certain glimmer of something you have yet to fully determine shining there, you unholster the handgun that had previously been sitting idle on your thigh, unclicking the safety.

He does the same, sighing heavily once again.

"Be careful, Y/N."

And before you even get a chance to reply, a sudden gust of wind sends you reeling, struggling for balance, though by the time you manage to regain your footing, you're already quite aways away from where you'd been standing previously, your Partner's concerned tone filtering through your now jumbled thoughts that you're gradually beginning to settle down.

"I'm okay. I'm fine," You breathe, coughing against the cloth of the scarf momentarily. "I'm just gonna keep heading towards the blue tent and make my way back towards you."

"We'll meet in the middle."

With that, the comm line goes silent.

The only sounds keeping you company now is the relentlessly howling wind, coupled with the distant chatter of windchimes and the echo of rather frantic yelling in a language you have yet to determine.

Picking your way through the storm and the slippery sand at your feet, you practically stumble into your destination, a thankfulness to be out of the wind rippling through you.

So, you get to work, sweeping each nook and cranny with your flashlight and pistol, your senses on high alert, though your body is still aching in slight protest against the battering winds now pounding against the thick, anchored tarps surrounding you.

Your surroundings are relatively empty.

The odd scattered hand tool lays around on the floor... a rolling stool off in the corner...

A rusty workbench on the one side, a tablesaw on the other.

This must be their workshop...

Though something else catches your eye as you come to a halt in your even, measured strides.

Above the workbench sits a bulletin board - evidently well used by the sheer amount of pin holes that litter the cork.

But it's not the cork itself that caught your attention...

No... It's what's pinned proudly to it that does.

An image.

With your own features staring back at you.

A very recent one at that.

"Ethan?" You mumble into your earpiece, a slow realization and panic beginning to settle in, your voice wavering as your now wild gaze surveys the dark room, your hearing straining for any sign of life.

"Go."

"I think..." You trail off, walking closer to the image, examining it under a scrutinizing gaze, an icy fear crashing over you. "Holy shit..."

"What is it, Y/N?!"

You allow your fingers to brush over the printed image, the flashlight lowering momentarily.

The paper feels rather worn... But yet the image is new...

At least two months old...

And as the sudden sound of footsteps resonates from somewhere behind you, you feel your shoulders tense as you take one last look at the image of one of your happiest days out of your whole life, even if rather crude looking X's have been drawn clearly over your face...

And his.

"We've been set up!" You scream in alarm, whirling around in one swift motion with your handgun drawn and at the ready, only to find yourself aiming at...

Nothing?

"You get the hell out of here, Ethan! Don't you dare come looking for me in whatever the hell we've been caught up in!"

There's a certain pleading in your tone that you find surprising as you continue to wildly scan the inky darkness, the feeling of someone's gaze resting heavy on you making you shiver in discomfort.

A low chuckle sounds from the void, only to be met moments later by a blow to the side of your head that sends you reeling, unable to regain your footing this time.

And as you stumble over the tools and stools that had littered this tent, you find your vision failing you...

As you fall to the ground...

Unconscious and completely unaware of what's to come.

****

You're slow to come to, a pounding resonating inside your skull that makes you groan in protest, coughing and spluttering as you blink against the feeling of grit in your eyes.

Through your hazy, wavering gaze you begin to take in your surroundings, awareness gradually flowing through your system once more.

Oddly enough, the tent now surrounding you is different - the burgundy colored canvas on either side of your vision a tell-tale sign of that fact.

But yet...

Your eyes widen in slight surprise as measured, even, cold sounding footsteps echo from somewhere behind you, a low chuckle reaching your senses.

The same one from before.

"It was such a shame I had to ruin that picture," He huffs, an air of feigned humor evident in his raspy, dry tone, gradually reaching your side. "Whoever the photographer was... maybe I should hire them... Or maybe I shouldn't, considering it was likely one of your IMF friends, was it not? Hm?"

Your captor's voice sends an icy wave of fear dancing down your spine, an anxious sweat beading on your forehead as he continues to draw closer.

"I don't think any of your friends at the IMF would want to witness... let alone photograph... what I'm about to do to you... Miss... L/N? Is it?"

"It's Agent to you, Imming. Agent L/N-Hunt."

At this, the man now at your side, so close you can feel his breath against your cheek, merely chuckles, a knowing grin barely visible out of your straining peripheral vision.

"Ah yes... Your Partner in crime," He sneers, his voice merely a whisper in your ear. "I'm counting that he does indeed arrive right on time for the show... He'd hate to miss it."

And as the cool feeling of something all too familiar is placed against your cheek, you inwardly wince, bracing yourself for the inevitable pain about to be dealt to you.

Your defenseless form, bound to whatever creaky chair you'd been sat in previously by your wrists and ankles, the thick rope biting at your skin through your clothes...

You begin to struggle against the restraints as the man looming over you just cackles wickedly, the edge of his blade being dragged across your bare skin agonizingly slow.

And all you can do is sit there, screaming out in pain beyond measurable as you desperately, futilely attempt to turn away from the pain being inflicted upon you.

But then, the cool metal disappears.

The presence at your side is becoming a mere haze.

You know right well what's going on and you don't do anything to stop it.

Instead, you fall into the hands of unconsciousness once more, but this time, you welcome it.

"This is but a taste of the agony you will feel, Agent," Imming's distantly foggy tone informs, a smugness evident even in your crumbling state. "So try and rest up while you still live and breathe."

Unable to do much more than groan any sort of rebuttal, your vision goes dark as you let yourself go...

Momentarily at ease.

****

"Please tell me you have her location," The rather dazed and angry looking Ethan Hunt breathes as he nears where his friend sits, passing him a concerned glance.

"I do. But you need to settle down and think for a second, Ethan," Luther urges, gesturing to the couch off to the side of this particular safehouse.

One that feels emptier than usual without her presence at his side.

Sighing heavily, the usually level-headed Agent obliges, taking a seat at his friend's side.

"You can't just run in there, guns a blazin', you know that."

"They took her! It was a setup! She even said so herself!"

"But she also told you not to come after her, so there must be more going on here than what we're currently seeing," The hacker explains, voice level as he lowers it slightly before continuing. "I know how much she means to you, Ethan. I know that. So we're going to think things through before we do anything."

And for once, Agent Ethan Hunt is at a loss.

A loss for words, a loss for any sort of plan...

He merely holds his friend's gaze, a certain glimmer of desperation and fear shining within his eyes.

"What do you have in mind?"

****

You're quicker to come to this time around, the rather obnoxiously loud chatter surrounding you a sensation that pulls you from the depths of oblivion once more.

The tent is still the same from what you can see through the swarm of masked figures surrounding you, all seeming to be focused on where you're bound, no doubt covered in blood and sweat.

You have no idea what time it is, though by the slight change in temperature, you'd say it's quickly becoming nightfall.

A shiver wracks through your beaten frame, your ribs crying out in protest, though as you sit there, digging through your muddled thoughts, you have no memory as to why.

Maybe I've been out that long... Who knows what these guys have done to me...

Another shiver ripples through you, as a cough joins it, your body pulling against the restraints making you wince.

The cough gains the attention of the people surrounding you, their attention now all focused on you...

Or more so, past you.

"You're all aware of what was previously discussed, yes?" Imming's ice-cold tone sounds from where you sit, the masked figures momentarily blurring into one as the chair you're in lurches forward, quickly being spun around in one swift motion.

Now, you're finally facing him.

Your captor.

He is evidently unshaven, though well dressed, the tie loose around the collar of his white dress shirt, stained with blood.

Your blood.

His sleeves are rolled up and cuffed neatly there, though a utility belt sits around his waist, various weapons and... other daunting looking items present.

And illuminated brightly by two lamps the bulletin board from before sits, the image of you and your husband, both clad in attire that to any outsider, would appear not too fancy.

Nothing too significant.

But to the pair of you...

Casual attire was how you'd settled on your wedding to look - only a small group of you actually had been invited.

But yet...

This monster had gotten his hands on one of the few images that had been captured of those moments, the minute you'd finally said the words.

It was finally real.

No pretending, this time.

You'd found yourself in love with Ethan Hunt, and it had come as a surprise when he'd reciprocated the feelings.

And after much debate on those late nights when neither of you could sleep... you'd both decided to finally make it official.

That was two months ago. 

And now, as you sit there, tears stinging your eyes as memories come flooding back to you, you're inwardly hoping that his familiar figure would stride through that opening to your left, the loose fabric flapping in the breeze.

"Do you have any idea why you're in the position you're currently in, Miss L/N?" The man in front of you sneers, pacing towards you, a sickening grin tugging at the edges of his lips.

You wordlessly shake your head, deeming it wise to remain silent for the time being.

Imming just chuckles, circling you.

"It's simple really. You and your Partner there," He trails off, gesturing to Ethan's figure in the image, the red X's over your faces seeming brighter than before. "You've both cost me a lot of money. Constantly thwarting my plans that are so meticulously crafted... They'd all go absolutely flawlessly if you two Agents didn't intervene every - single - time!"

Now it's your turn to chuckle lowly, though it comes out sounding more like a pathetic wheeze.

"I guess you need to figure out some better planning methods... Or maybe save yourself a headache and hire somebody to plan for you? It's just a suggestion, really-"

Your sentence is abruptly cut short as your captor bolts towards you, his gloved hand finding a grip around your throat, squeezing just enough that your airway becomes restricted.

"I'd suggest that you stop talking before I kill you and leave your dead body for that husband of yours to find!"

You begin to struggle against his grip and your binds once more, your vision beginning to tunnel...

But then it comes rushing back to you as you jolt forward, spluttering and gasping for air, your body feeling so weak, you could swear you're beginning to lose consciousness yet again.

"Once I kill the both of you, all of my plans will succeed! And nobody will be able to stop me! Nobody! Not even your precious IMF!"

And as he stands there, looming over your beaten, crumpled figure, a sudden yell of alarm sounds from outside, a knowingly wicked smirk plastering across his features.

"Right on time."

Grabbing the back of the chair you're tied to and dragging it towards the bulletin board, Imming just laughs, seeming to be enjoying the moment that you're still trying to wrap your muddled head around.

The masked men that had been previously standing idle around you now line both of the large walls of the rectangular tent, the large opening clearly visible from where you now sit.

And clearly, it is dark, the opening seeming to be leading to a void.

A void that as yet another quickly silenced cry of distant agony meets your ears, is quickly filled, the features of the very person you'd been praying to see meeting your blurry vision.

"Ah! Ethan Hunt! How nice of you to join us! You're right on time!" The voice from your side calls out in cold greeting, the figures lining the walls not even flinching as your Partner evidently takes in his surroundings, seeming rather perplexed by the situation he'd run into.

Clad in all black tactical gear, your Partner cautiously makes his way towards you, concern glistening in his gaze as he lays eyes on your figure.

"What the hell have you done to her?"

"The same thing I'm going to do to you!" Imming exclaims, the smile in his tone oh so evident.

And even though you can't see it, you feel sick just picturing his wicked grin.

"You've come to die, Hunt. Though, you'll watch her go first. But, let's make it fun, shall we?"

You allow your gaze to rest solely on Ethan's widening one as the first blow makes contact with your side, your already bruised ribs now breaking, a scream of pain being drawn from your lips.

All you can do is watch through teary-eyed vision as Ethan is rushed by the numerous armed forces that had been sitting idle, seeming to take out the first few with a few shots, only to get tackled to the ground moments later.

But then, someone else arrives.

Shots ring out, the bullets bouncing off the concrete beneath and exiting through the tent canvas on all sides.

You hear the man that had been standing behind you proudly cry out in alarm and pain, a certain sickening crack and thud meeting your dampened senses.

Everything is beginning to sound as one - the screams, the shots...

But Ethan is somehow on his feet again, another figure at his side, the pair of them hurrying towards where you sit.

Your vision is tunneling yet again, but you fight it off, desperately trying to stay conscious a while longer.

Or at least until you get the hell out of here.

You barely resonate the fact that two people are crouched in front of you now.

Their features are indistinguishable, though you do feel the ropes around your ankles and wrists beginning to come free, the cold steel of a blade light against your clammy skin.

And then, you find yourself falling limp, unable to support your own weight as the ropes are tugged free.

The clamor goes quiet...

Your blurry gaze becomes clear...

And for a moment, you allow sharp realization to ripple through you as you fall into the familiarly strong arms of your husband, a heavy sigh of relief being pulled from your lips at your weight against him.

"I've got you," You could swear you hear him murmur as your feet leave the ground, being held completely in his arms now, your bloodied, beaten figure pressed against his chest. "Now let's get out of here."

Through your once more hazy gaze, you watch as Imming's clearly dying figure desperately crawls towards a discarded rifle, his paling fingers reaching for it...

But then, he stops, life having left his body.

And in turn, a relief floods through you as you find yourself being carried out into the cool desert night, the glistening stars shining in the skies above almost mesmerizing, the breeze dancing over your warm skin a welcome sensation.

Murmuring things incomprehensible to your dulling senses, you're laid in the back of a pickup truck, your body aching in protest.

But, a hand finds yours, giving it a squeeze.

And within that squeeze there's an unspoken promise that you've always known for certain:

You're never alone - not as long as Ethan's alive and able.

And tonight, he's got you.

And you're still alive.

Oh, Imming. How your meticulous planning failed you yet again.