Work Text:
The wedding invite is sitting in her postal box when Paris next checks it.
She doesn’t really know why she has one; until very recently, there was no one in her life who would even think to write to her or send her actual physical letters and one advantage of the life she’d chosen was that junk mail was not something you often had to deal with.
Unfortunately, Paris has fallen in with a team consisting chiefly of a thief, an American Boy Scout CIA operative, and two slightly unhinged agents - one of whom, despite being better with computers than anyone else Paris knows, likes to write to her.
Benji hasn't let her slip away - nor would she want to - and, despite the fact that she is capable of decrypting an email every now and then, he sends her letters, a postcard sometimes, and, on a date she’s not sure how he knows, a card wishing her ‘bon anniversaire’.
Now, a wedding invitation, and Paris isn’t so much surprised by the wedding but the invitation, the card addressed to her.
It’s good card stock, thick cream paper and simple black lettering inviting her to the wedding of Ethan Matthew Hunt and Benjamin Dunn. An address of a chateau four hours from her current safehouse and a date, three weeks away. It seems soon, but then again- They’ve probably waited long enough.
She emails him back, out of principle, but keeps the card, tucks it away in the bottom of her go-bag.
**
She’s late; she missed her train on purpose in case she’s being followed. She eventually arrives at the address on the card and finds that the driveway and courtyard of the house are busy.
People come and go - she wonders for a moment if she’s in the right place and then Benji appears, slipping away from a woman with a clipboard to greet her. He telegraphs his movements very clearly, giving her the option of slipping out of the hug he’s offering but she allows it, even tucks her head into the crook of his neck. It’s nice, after months of keeping her head down, to be welcome somewhere.
When he releases her, she takes a step back, examining him. He looks well, tanned from wherever he and Ethan had absconded to after their last mission, with a recent haircut, and he’s wearing a striped shirt, rolled up to his elbows.
He sighs at her scrutiny but he’s still happy to see her, she can tell.
“Regardez- Je suis encore entier,” he reassures her and she nods approvingly, aware he’s inspecting her right back.
There’s careful makeup hiding the bruise on her cheekbone from a slight mishap, but he doesn’t need to know about that right now. He’s oddly concerned when motorbike chases are involved.
She searches his expression, looking for something, anything amiss- “Votre mariage. Pas de trac?”
Benji smiles at her, shaking his head. “No. No stage fright, no cold feet.”
She believes him. He’s happy, which is nice. She likes him better happy. She likes him anyway, but this Benji, who’d emerged after they’d saved the world and their missions were regular run of the mill terrorists and bombs, who jokes and smiles, is an improvement. The fact that he and Ethan are together is probably helping with that, she thinks.
She’d had a front row seat to their dynamic from Austria to London, and the surprising thing was that they weren’t romantically involved. They solved that thirty minutes after Benji woke up in hospital in South Africa, Paris knows, and it makes more sense. God forbid she ever be that hesitant around someone.
“Je ne m'attendais pas à tout ça,” she tells him, jutting her chin at the people and preparations surrounding them.
“Ah.” Benji nods, cheeks flushing red. “It has gotten a little out of hand. We had thought, you know, a registry office, one or two people but- Ethan did something like that before and, once I told my sister, she insisted. This is her place, she’s organised most of this but. Should be fun.”
Paris files the ‘before’ for Ethan away for a later date, adding it to the scant knowledge she has of him as a person outside of what they do, and follows as Benji points out the woman with the clipboard, his sister. Paris can see some family resemblance, if she squints. She’s issuing orders to a young man, maybe Paris’ age, and Benji adds- “My nephew, Sam, poor lad. Set up today, wedding tomorrow, then hopefully Claire goes back to being my sister and not a bridezilla. Can you be a bridezilla if it’s not your wedding?“
Paris tries out the word bridezilla and shrugs. The nephew is carrying a stack of chairs and Paris wonders idly how big this wedding actually is.
It must be big, if she’s here’s, if the rest of the team are too. Other friends, maybe, and Benji apparently has family, but- Ethan doesn’t. He hasn’t said, but you can just tell these things sometimes. Paris doesn’t have family either.
“Et Ethan?”
Benji’s face lights up as she asks and she tries very hard to roll her eyes convincingly.
“Helping, currently. He’s around somewhere.” Benji glances over his shoulder; Paris tries his following his gaze but she doesn’t have the same innate sense of Ethan’s location Benji has. Disconcertingly, he’s looking over at an orchard of trees, where strings of lights are starting to show through branches, but Paris has seen Ethan jump twenty feet off a balcony in Madrid so she figures that he’s fine.
Benji must as well - he wraps an arm around her shoulders and steers her into the house. “Drinks, come on. Come and meet people.”
Her nose must wrinkle, because he laughs and squeezes her shoulders.
**
People include Grace and Theo, as well as a young woman and her husband who seem a little out of their depth with the present company, another nephew, and a woman who thrusts her empty glass at Benji as he passes, leading Paris into an overly large kitchen. There’s a little girl sitting on the floor, colouring in, and Paris steps over her gingerly.
Benji pours the woman another glass of champagne with a put upon sigh, but he’s smiling as he hands it over and she blows him a kiss which he laughs away. “Yeah, yeah, you love me. Good old Benji-“
He turns to Paris, still holding the bottle- “Drink? Ignore Jane, she’s terrible.”
“S’il vous plaît.” Paris nods, and tries to relax her shoulders and smile. Grace pulls a face at her from across the kitchen, her own drink nearly empty, and Paris can understand. A wedding, a family affair, and then them-
Benji squeezes her shoulders again, a look on his face like he knows what she’s thinking. “Que des vieux amis. Tu t'intégreras comme un poisson dans l'eau.”
She’s not sure she believes him but she nods anyway. “D’accord.”
Benji smiles at her, reassuring, and then starts filling up other glasses, his niece’s husband accepting his offer a little too enthusiastically.
Her too-tight grip on her champagne must be obvious; Theo stands up from where he’d been chatting with Grace and Benji’s other nephew and joins her, clinking his glass against hers. “I’m glad you came. Wasn’t sure when I got my invite if it was some sort of cover, a mission, you know?”
She snorts with laughter despite herself, “Pensiez-vous qu'ils utilisaient aussi leur relation comme couverture?”
He laughs too, shaking his head. “Look, I was warned once, you never know with Hunt. It’s nice, though. I’m glad.”
Paris hums her agreement and sips her champagne. Benji has stopped by Jane, tucking her hair behind her ear and grinning at something she says, and Paris frowns, watching them.
“Et les autres?” She asks, and Theo pauses-
“It’s not an intel opportunity- You could just meet them.”
At her raised eyebrow, he concedes, giving her a rundown of the room. “Benji’s niece- Katherine. A school teacher, in England still. Husband is a banker, make of that what you will. Apparently, Claire moved out here after their parents died, used her inheritance-“
Paris nods. It’s the kind of thing English people do.
“The nephews, Samuel and Jake-” Theo shrugs, “Seem nice.”
“Et elle?” She asks a little too quickly; Theo gives her a quizzical look but nods.
“Carter? Jane- One of us, once. Retired now. She and Benji and Ethan all go way back, I read the file when I was assigned to bring Hunt in, before, y’know. I didn’t believe it when I read it at the time but, yeah. And that’s her daughter down there.”
Paris nods. She’s always been less surprised than Theo about Ethan and Benji’s past missions; IMF legends have a habit of turning out to be true. Firsthand experience has shown this, as have the stories Benji occasionally shares, though they’re often censored, whether out of self consciousness or grief-
Old friends, Paris thinks, and then thinks of the woman Gabriel killed in Venice. Ilsa Faust. She would have been here today as well, doubtlessly, and Paris chases the thought away. Ethan and Benji have forgiven, though she hasn’t forgotten and doubts they ever will.
Grace is still sat with the other nephew, and Paris has watched her enough to know when she’s flirting. A hand on his knee, her hair thrown over one shoulder, and Paris smiles despite herself.
“Pensez-vous qu'elle ait des chances?” She asks Theo, and he considers.
“Bet you fifty she’s walking out of his room Sunday morning.”
Paris doesn’t take bets she won’t win. When she meets Theo’s gaze, they both smile and Paris is reminded again how much she actually likes him. Likes all of them.
“Come on,” he says, taking her hand, “come and meet Jake. He’s training to be a chef.”
And Paris can work with that, someone who appreciates precision and a sharp knife.
**
There’s a dinner, that evening.
A table has been set up outside, candles and string lights in the courtyard, and Claire has brought in a caterer.
Paris doesn’t quite see the need for such a big deal, not since she’s learnt that this is pretty much the entire wedding party. At her raised eyebrow, Benji shrugs, gives her a soft look. “It’s not often everyone you love is in the same place.”
The sincerity in his voice unsteadies her and she ducks her head, the back of her neck growing warm.
Outside, everyone is seated for dinner; they’re the last ones left in the house and Paris swallows, smooths some lint from Benji’s shoulder. “Allez, viens. Ton futur mari t'attend.”
Benji nods, some of the warmth in his expression fading. He hesitates, then seems to think better of it. “Vous avez raison. Ils attendent tous.”
She sits opposite Katherine, Theo on one side of her and Jane’s daughter, Olivia, on her other. Olivia is in a blue dress and has butterfly clips in her hair. Paris, trying her best, compliments them and Olivia beams, sliding her chair closer to Paris’.
Benji and Ethan sit together, crammed in around the end of the table, but neither seem to mind. Ethan has one arm slung around the back of Benji’s chair and doesn’t seem likely to move at any time. It’s likely going to cause them problems with the actual meal, but Paris can’t help but find them charming anyway.
Katherine seems to as well because she leans along the table and asks, “How did you two meet again, Uncle Benji?”
There’s a split second - Ethan and Benji look at each other, Jane eyes the table, considering, a smile on her face - and Paris understands then that there’s a real divide between those at the table in their line of work and those that are not.
Whatever Benji and Ethan discuss, a decision is clearly made because Ethan smiles, amused and a little lost in memory all at once- “You helped me, right? Technically, I think we were committing treason.”
“Which time?” Jane cuts in, and Benji throws his napkin at her.
“It would have been the first time, and no, actually,” Benji frowns, “we were friends before that.”
Ethan looks at him like they’re redrawing the parameters of their relationship all over again. Benji scoffs. “Of course we were friends. I don’t break federal laws for just anyone.”
It sounds romantic somehow and Ethan softens, nodding, presses a kiss to Benji’s shoulder.
Katherine’s own smile falters and she looks at her brothers and her husband, who all seem equally nonplussed. Claire, to her credit, seems less fazed but purses her lips.
“At work,” Benji clarifies then, for those at the table who haven’t been following the runaway train of conversation, “but it’s taken, what, twenty years to get here?”
“Worth the wait,” Ethan adds and takes Benji’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it.
It’s a lovely gesture. It’s a bit sickening.
“Vont-ils toujours être comme ça maintenant?” Paris mutters to Theo, who shakes his head indulgently.
“It’s their wedding. If they’re still like this in six months, we’ll re-assess.”
Around them, Benji’s family seems to be digesting the fact that Benji and Ethan might be entirely serious about treason and the conversation lulls for just a moment until Katherine turns her attention to Paris.
“You…work with Benji and Ethan, right? I think Mum mentioned- You’re French, how did that come about?” Katherine’s expression is open, genuine, but Paris freezes-
‘J'ai essayé de tuer Ethan,’ she could say, and then the wedding festivities will be well and truly over.
“We both do, and Grace does,” Theo steps in, “I think the two of them must go around collecting us strays.”
Everyone’s eyes turn to Ethan and Benji, who pull faces, nodding, and the air of levity is restored for the time being. Theo takes a sip of his wine, topping Katherine’s up for her too, and keeps his tone light and breezy as he asks “You’re a teacher, third grade? What’s that like?”
“Year three, but yes-“ Katherine blinks, still processing, more questions for them obviously on the tip of her tongue- “It’s…it’s rewarding, mostly. Still lots of paint and glue, but kids at that age, they get really interested in so many things.”
Katherine has a rather large sip of her wine before she gamely answers Theo’s questions about the viking project her students are currently undertaking. Under the table, his hand squeezes Paris’.
It’s not that she needed saving- She’s just glad he did.
Olivia has been allowed to bring her crayons to the table; she’s colouring in an outline of a unicorn, its horn is green, and she offers Paris the blue crayon.
“For her hooves,” Olivia explains solemnly, and Paris can only rely on Theo for so much. She accepts and tries to make her face smile.
Dinner goes on, multiple courses are brought out, then coffee, biscuits, and Jake leaves Grace’s side long enough to disappear into the house and return with a bottle of tequila and lime wedges.
“No-“ Benji protests when Jane slides a shot in front of him- “Oh no. No no no. Big day tomorrow.”
Jane blithely ignores him, serving Ethan a shot too and lining up her own. Paris takes hers when it’s passed down the table and accepts when Theo offers his up to her as well.
“I had a- Bad experience in college,” he explains, when eyebrows are raised.
“Who hasn’t?” Katherine’s husband asks, and murmurs from around the table agree.
Paris swallows her shot and Theo’s before anyone can push him, and foregoes the lime and salt. Grace salutes her with her own measure of tequila and follows suit, grimacing through the burn of the alcohol.
“Well,” Benji says, approval and amusement bleeding through his petulant expression, “down the hatch.”
He splutters, wincing, and Ethan downs his in solidarity.
Jane, smirking, pours them all another and Benji doesn’t even protest this time.
“You’ll carry me to bed, right?” He asks Ethan, who laughs, delighted.
His sister looks on disapprovingly; Paris gets the feeling that Claire’s schedule for tomorrow does not allow for either of the grooms to be hungover. Her son offers her a shot and Claire gives him a look that makes Paris think of headteachers who are not angry, just disappointed. Jake seems to be immune to that particular expression, however, and he slides it closer.
Paris catches herself watching, waiting to see the scene play out.
Claire, not a hair out of place, wearing a soft cardigan with a blanket over her lap now that the night has started getting cold, sighs, scowls at her son, and tips the shot back. Samuel drums his hands on the table until she sets the glass back down.
“Darlings,” she says to all of her children, “you’re not the generation who invented fun.”
She stands then, folding the blanket demurely over the back of her chair, and kisses Benji’s cheek. “I’m off to bed. Don’t be hungover tomorrow.”
“Mmm,” Benji says, “I make no promises.”
Ethan laughs again, warm and happy, and noses at Benji’s jaw. The two of them lean back in their chairs, watching on fondly as more measures of tequila are poured.
Next to Paris, Olivia is curled up, her head resting on the table. Her eyes are closed, a crayon smushed under her cheek along with profiterole crumbs.
Paris doesn’t have many memories from her childhood, fewer still that are good, but she remembers being that small and taken upstairs to bed at parties. Paris gently removes the crayon and smooths Olivia’s fringe back from her face as her eyelids twitch.
Jane’s watching her, Paris knows, but she chooses not to look back.
Theo is next to her, loose-limbed and relaxed, and he’s swapping college stories with Katherine’s husband. Matt apparently went to Durham; Theo went to Georgetown. Paris hadn’t gone to college - she listens as he discusses four years of studying international relations and political science.
Matt’s stories include playing rugby and drinking and she loses interest again, choosing to focus on the soft rumble of Theo’s voice and ignore the trivialities of rugby matches from fifteen years ago.
Jane must also grow bored of nice young men discussing university experiences because she stands, a little unsteadily, and gathers Olivia up into her arms, shushing her when she stirs.
“Bedtime,” Jane whispers against her daughter’s hair, stopping by Benji on her way into the house so he can wish Olivia sweet dreams, kissing the top of her head and Jane’s cheek in turn.
Paris waves goodnight after Jane’s back is turned, a little wave of her fingers that makes her feel foolish but the warm looks Theo and Benji both give her are perhaps worth it.
Ethan and Benji disappear when Paris isn’t looking; one moment they’re there, holding court, and the next, it’s late and she and Theo and Matt and Katherine are left.
“Grace?” She asks, and Theo smirks.
“She and Jake went for a walk- He said he’d show her the gardens. Lovely at midnight, apparently.”
Paris snorts, and decides that enough is enough for one evening. She declines his offer to walk her to her rooms and leaves Theo with Matt, who has another story of some league final match. Katherine smiles wanly at her as she goes, her husband off again.
Paris has her own room, tucked away in a wing of the house, and she’s impressed that an inheritance bought Claire this kind of peace in the Loire valley. Her room overlooks fields, nothing particularly special, but it’s calm and, for once, in a strange house with people she doesn’t really know, Paris still feels safe.
The only sign the room next to hers is occupied is the thud of a headboard against the wall, repeated until Paris thumps the wall back, just once, and then the neighbouring room’s occupants must get the message. She leaves the curtains open and lets the moonlight wash over the room as she sleeps.
**
There are hungover people in the kitchen in the morning.
Paris is not one of them, but she sits at the table with them anyway, sipping coffee smugly as paracetamol is chased down with pints of water.
Benji is slumped next to her, his head resting on the wooden surface, and Paris occasionally pets his hair. His eyes are closed, but the rise and fall of his chest reassure her that he’s still breathing. Both Katherine and Matthew are worse for wear and Jane had appeared with Olivia in tow, wearing a pair of sunglasses, and she forces Benji to pour milk for Olivia’s cereal so the smell doesn’t make her vomit.
Samuel and Jake appear for coffee. Jake takes two mugs away with him.
Theo is absent; she has no one to share a look with, but Paris is beginning to enjoy herself this weekend.
The self-pitying around her is disrupted by Claire, who bustles into the kitchen with her clipboard again. There are jobs to do and hangovers are not an excuse. Paris watches as Claire dispatches her children off to set up chairs and lanterns and collect suits.
Claire then turns her attention to Benji, unsurprised and unbothered by his misery. She makes him a fresh cup of tea, pulling teabags out of the same red box as the brand Benji himself prefers whenever he’s in England.
“You-“ She sets a mug in front of him- “Sober up, make yourself presentable.”
Benji nods, as best anyone in his condition can manage.
Paris badly smothers her smile and affects an innocent expression when Claire remembers she’s also there. Claire hesitates, looking at her, and then thinks better of giving her a job.
“Wise of her,” Benji mutters when she’s gone, and Paris pets his hair again.
“Dois-je préparer le petit-déjeuner?” She asks, and Benji opens one eye, looking at her quizzically.
“Can you actually cook?”
She shrugs. She can feed herself, but whether or not it counts as cooking is up for debate. Benji considers for a moment and then shakes his head.
“Maybe not today.” He looks over at Olivia, who is pushing cereal around her bowl and watching the grown ups around her like they’re a very amusing television program.
Something about the five year old watching them with wide brown eyes makes him straighten up and sip at his tea determinedly. He also swallows two extra paracetamol and Paris surrenders her coffee to him without a word when he reaches for it.
Somewhat revived, he sits in his sister’s kitchen, scrubs a hand over his face, and then laughs, a little nervously. “I’m getting married today.”
“C'est pourquoi nous sommes tous ici.” Paris agrees, eyeing the coffee maker, wondering whether she can get away with making herself another without making coffee for everyone else. Doubtful, she thinks, and gives Benji back her attention.
“You’re getting married today,” Jane echoes, finally sitting upright. She looks around the kitchen, a thought just occurring to her, “Where is Ethan?”
It’s a good question; he hadn’t been part of the group medicating themselves this morning- Paris had been up before anyone else had appeared in search of hydration and painkillers and she hasn’t seen him.
“He’s Ethan,” Benji says, and his tone is laden with affection, “bastard got up at six this morning. Went for a run.”
Jane sighs loudly.
**
By midday, the house and grounds are as busy as they were when Paris arrived yesterday. She and Grace are arranging flowers for the table. Neither of them are actually arranging the flowers, it not being in either of their skillsets, but Theo is giving it a go and Paris watches as he tries to tell the difference between two yellow flowers.
“Is this a ranunculus or a peony?” He asks and Paris shrugs.
“Je tue des gens. Envoyer des fleurs n'est pas mon fort.”
Grace snorts, but Theo looks at both of them with a sterner expression. “You used to kill people.”
It’s a fine hair to split. She crosses her legs and leans back in her chair, watching him. He decides to put both types of flowers in. It looks nice enough, and Paris can’t imagine that Ethan or Benji will actually mind what the flowers look like.
Around them, plant pots are setting out an aisle in the courtyard, and two rows of seats have appeared.
It is a small wedding, despite the fact that Ethan and Benji have included the three of them on their guest list, though another guest is apparently arriving. Claire had broken out some deep breathing exercises at the news, and Benji had shrugged, his hands on her shoulders, breathing with her. “Last minute RSVP. Didn’t think he’d be able to make it. He’s not fussy, don’t stress about it.”
Paris is intrigued, as is Grace, and they’re the first ones dressed, making themselves useful outside with a line of sight on the entrance to drive.
They’re not disappointed; a sleek BMW makes its way towards the house, the coupe utterly unsuitable for the gravel drive. When the driver gets out, Grace stiffens in her seat-
She’s the only one who’d been fully inducted to the IMF before the world went sideways under the Entity, and they’re mostly left to their own devices these days as things settle down again. Paris bats at the hand Grace has clenched around her wrist- “Quoi? Qui est-ce?”
Grace lets go, blinking, lucky her hand isn’t broken. Her tone is apologetic as she explains, “Upper management in the CIA. Kittridge didn’t trust him, but he’s very useful. Brandt or something.”
Paris frowns. “Pourquoi serait-il un invité?”
Brandt stretches his back with the air of a man who has been travelling non-stop for thirty hours. He surveys the house, the final preparations going on around them, and nods over at them- “I didn’t miss it, did I?”
“No-“ Theo shakes his head, and Paris can see him perfect his posture, can practically hear the ‘Sir’ he’s holding back. A CIA agent and Boy Scout through and through.
“La cérémonie a lieu à trois heures,” Paris says, and he nods.
“Have you-“ Brandt begins to ask, and then Ethan appears, striding out of the main entrance, in his dress shirt and trousers but missing his tie and jacket.
“Brandt-“ There’s the usual hugging and handshakes and a long moment where the two men look at each other. Paris isn’t eavesdropping but she can’t help but overhear, even as Ethan ushers him towards the house-
“It’s good to see you, Ethan. Really. And I’m happy for you two.”
“Thank you, means a lot. I’m glad you made it, I know Benji will be.”
“Who’d have thought, hey?” Brandt lets out a long breath, and Ethan gives him a crooked smile.
“I think, after London, it’s not that surprising.”
Brandt considers, and then concedes to Ethan’s self awareness. “Maybe what’s surprising is how long it took you both.”
“Hm- You’re not the only one. I keep thinking- Luther-“ Ethan trails off, and Brandt squeezes his shoulder.
“He’d just be happy for you.”
Ethan nods, his gaze heavy, and he claps Brandt on the shoulder. “Come on inside, Carter’s dying to see you.”
“Jane’s here? Of course-“
Paris watches them head indoors and lets out a sigh.
Theo looks thoughtful, piecing dots together for himself. “Brandt. William Brandt. He was in the files.”
It’s sweet, really, how much homework he had to do before the CIA let him chase Ethan down. Paris was given a gun and discretionary budget.
“Quelles sont les chances que nous soyons dans les dossiers?” Paris asks and knows the answer before she’s finished asking.
Full pardons or not, Ethan Hunt doesn’t break you out of prison and enlist you on a mission without files being kept somewhere.
**
At five minutes to three, Paris is sitting in a wooden chair next to Theo and Katherine.
The officiant, a woman from Claire’s book club, stands in front of the aisle constructed this morning, occasionally adjusting her robes, and the others are all sat waiting, filing in the rest of the seats.
Benji and Ethan aren’t having best men; too many people aren’t here for them to choose without being reminded, but Olivia walks down the aisle before them. She’s wearing a frilly white dress, matching socks and shoes, and she has a basket of flowers, determinedly sprinkling petals as she goes, one petal at a time. It’s very slow progress but her diligence is admirable, and Benji and Ethan wait for her.
She’s scooped up into Jane’s lap when she reaches the front, and immediately squirms around to look back.
They walk each other down the aisle, holding hands, fingers intertwined. Ethan’s gaze never leaves Benji’s face. Paris can’t be certain but she thinks Benji might already be crying.
They’re a handsome pair, dark suits, smiles, and Paris’ heart clenches- How close they had come to missing out on all this.
Theo, next to her, cranes his head for a better look as they walk past, his knee knocking against hers. He doesn’t move it away.
When they reach the officiant, Ethan squeezes Benji’s hand before he lets go and wipes away a tear from Benji’s cheek. Benji’s hand comes up to his face, wiping away another, and he shakes his head- “I’m already a mess and we’re only just here- I’m sorry-“
Ethan just smiles, catches another tear- “Don’t be.“
The officiant’s opening remarks are to the point; they’re gathered here for Ethan and Benji, as witnesses to their love, as their friends and family-
Ethan and Benji don’t really seem to be listening to her, too lost looking at each other. It wouldn’t matter if they were alone, Paris thinks- They wouldn’t notice either way.
They skip readings and they’ve chosen their own vows.
Ethan clears his throat, takes Benji’s hands in his, and starts- “Benji. You know.”
Benji laughs, a bright sound, amusement and delight clear even as he shakes his head. “You madman. Of course I know.”
Ethan grins, ducks his head. “They’re not my vows, but you already know the most important thing. I want to do everything with you. There’s a lot of roads we’ve travelled - let’s find new ones, together. We spent a lot of time in step without saying what we wanted- I want you, and I love you. I always will.”
Benji’s crying again, still, happy tears, and he wipes his eyes as best he can. “You- Most infuriating, most lovely man I’ve ever met. Showing me up at our wedding.”
This time, it’s Ethan’s turn to laugh wetly and they’re grinning at each other, ridiculous, unrepentant.
“I want everything,” Benji says, “I want good days and bad days and the stupidly hard days with you. There is nowhere that I won’t go with you, and you know by now that I mean it and I choose it. I choose you and I love you. Whatever’s next, we’re together.”
The officiant smiles warmly at them, rings are given - Paris scrubs away the tear rolling down her cheek and Katherine hands out tissues, passing them along the rows.
Benji reaches for Ethan before the officiant has even finished pronouncing them to be wed.
One of Ethan’s hands cups Benji’s cheek, the other pulling him in by the lapel of his suit, and Benji goes willingly, one hand wrapped around Ethan’s tie; someone whistles - it doesn’t deter them.
When they finally separate, they’re both breathless, pink-cheeked, grinning.
**
It’s no surprise to Paris that Ethan can dance.
Well, he can dance the way you do at weddings. Paris favours a nightclub in Berlin where she’s not so sure he’d fit in.
He’s swept Benji off his feet for most of the evening, then finally relinquished Benji’s hand. It’s currently Paris’ turn and she follows his lead around the improvised dance floor. She can admit that the efforts all day were worth it, the lanterns and string lights have turned the courtyard into a beautiful terrace, and Samuel and his speaker system are a decent enough DJ.
As they dance, Ethan does most of the work keeping her upright; he’s having fun, though, his eyes crinkling, grin wide. She is too.
Somewhere to her left, Grace and Jake are ensconced together, and Theo is holding Olivia off the ground in a facsimile of princess style waltz, much to her delight.
Ethan spins her, keeping a firm grip on her hand, a promise that he won’t let her fall, and Paris lets herself smile, her head back.
When she’s back in his arms, Ethan’s grin takes on a more serious note.
“Thank you, for coming. It was important to Benji, and to me,” Ethan tells her. Paris is at sea once more - he’s so earnest. She doesn’t know what to do with it.
They manage another turn, and Ethan’s expression is so kind- It’s wasted on her. It should be spared, saved for Jane, for his new husband, for the family he’s acquired today. They see out the rest of the song, Ethan’s hold on her never falters, but she feels the misstep she’s made somewhere.
Paris is almost grateful when they’re interrupted by a polite cough; Jane holds a hand out and Ethan, a gentleman, releases Paris, though it isn’t him Jane wants.
“I’m giving you your husband back. Go, before someone else steals him.” She’s smiling, and she takes Paris’ hand instead; Ethan gives a surprised nod but relinquishes Paris to her.
“Be careful with her,” he tells Jane, and it sounds like an instruction, not a warning.
“Go-” Jane tells him again, rolling her her eyes- “before Benji runs off with Will instead.”
Paris is aware that her mouth is hanging open and shuts it, and she watches as Ethan backs away, hunting down a glass of champagne and then another.
Jane steps gently in time with the music, guiding Paris along.
“So,” Jane smiles, “you’re new to the family thing. Benji got to you, right?”
Paris blinks.
“It’s a good thing,” Jane reassures her, “he wants to look out for you.”
“Il ne me doit rien,” she says and Jane sighs, but it’s forgiving.
“He cares about you. You’re in, you know.” Jane spins her, less confident in the movement that Ethan had been, but Paris doesn’t fall. “You’re one of his people, one of us, you know that, right?”
Paris falters, and Jane catches her. “It’s okay, if it’s a lot. But it’s not common, when you do what we do, to have people who watch your back no matter what, and we look after each other. You too, now.”
Jane lets them rotate on the spot, taking in this odd little group of spies and civilians. Ethan’s seeking Benji out, a warm smile just for him that’s reciprocated the second Benji sees him.
“You’re allowed it, Paris.” They’re closer together than they need to be, Jane’s arms no longer steering her along but holding her, an embrace.
When the tears come, they catch Paris by surprise and she freezes where she stands. Jane stops with her.
“It’s okay,” Jane says, again, her tone soothing. She stops a tear as it rolls down Paris’ face, and smooths it away. “Everyone cries at weddings.”
They’re at the edge of the group, Paris realises, a facsimile of privacy offered, and Jane takes Paris’ hand and resumes the terrible attempt at leading her around the dance floor.
As the song ends, they end up near Theo, who is only too glad to return Olivia to Jane.
His attention stops Paris from slinking off, a smile on his face for her, though it fades into concern as he takes her in. He tries not to crowd her but his concern is palpable anyway, and he asks, “Is there anything I can do?”
She shakes her head and leans into him. He stills, like a frightened rabbit, but he lets himself breathe again when she doesn’t immediately bolt, the embrace resembling a hug but without any of the intent.
When she pulls away, he nods, and they watch the rest of the wedding party together.
There’s no sign of Grace, but Paris doesn’t like to bet against Theo anyway. Benji’s sister, suffering through a dance with her son-in-law, smiles despite it all at the sight of her brother on his wedding day. Jane and her daughter, and- Benji and Ethan, in their own world.
It feels intrusive, watching them. They pulled Ethan out of the Bering sea in his underwear, but this is far more intimate, seeing him and Benji sway in time to the music, his eyes closed, his head resting against Benji’s shoulder.
Theo watches too and sighs. “Maybe we give them a year. It’s nice, really.”
“Oui, un an. Mais ensuite-“ She looks up Theo, and he smiles at her again, amusement curling the edges of it. He offers her his hand.