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shanachie_quillTitle: Mistaken Identity… Again
Characters: Ilsa Faust, William Brandt, Ethan Hunt, Luther Stickell
Fandom: Mission Impossible 5
Series: Double Trouble
Written For:
Prompt: Ilsa’s fighting style
Summary: Ilsa is a bit surprised to see someone she thinks she knows when she’s rescued by the MI team.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: the movie so don’t read if you haven’t seen it
Warnings:
Disclaimer: No one recognizable belongs to me. Not making any money off this.
Second Disclaimer: Despite being fanfiction, this is MY work and I do not give anyone or any other site permission to republish this story under my name or any other without my authorization.
Author's Note: This hasn’t been beta’ed. None of my usual betas have seen the movie yet, so I apologize if there’s anything off about this. I did have an offer from someone to look it over, but I feel a bit odd about having someone I’m unfamiliar with reading a draft. I’ve read it over a couple of times and I think I’ve caught all the mistakes, but we’ll see. I might add a companion piece later where you see the other side of this (that will be clearer after you read the story.
Ilsa was so focused on everything that had been happening that she hadn’t consciously registered all the members of Hunt’s team until after they’d gotten away. She hadn’t even registered the familiar-seeming features of one of his teammates until they were face to face for a brief minute. She tried to shake off the feeling that she knew the blondish haired man and followed the rest of the team out since there was no time to confront the man at that moment though. It was as they were driving away that she turned around and blurted out, “Clint.”
All three men looked at her in confusion. “What?” the blonde demanded. “Hunt, road!” he added as the man in question took his eyes off the road.
“You’re Clint. Right?” she asked, continuing to stare at him.
“Why does she know Barton’s name?” Hunt demanded.
“Who’s this Clint?” Luther asked.
“I’m not Clint,” Brandt was quick to answer, ignoring his team for the moment. When Ilsa didn’t look convinced, he insisted, “No, really. I’m not Clint. Why does everyone always think I’m Clint?”
“I would imagine for the same reason everyone always thinks he’s you,” Hunt pointed out, swinging the car through a space almost too narrow to contain it.
Brandt swore in Russian, but no one was sure if he was swearing at Hunt’s driving or the conversation.
“If you aren’t Clint…” Ilsa said.
“How do you know Clint?” Brandt replied. He pointed at Luther when the large man opened his mouth. “I’ll answer that in a minute.”
The former British intelligence officer frowned at Brandt, but answered, “His partner was one of my trainers. I met him when he came to pick her up one day.”
A myriad of emotions crossed Brandt’s face as he sorted through her words. “You said her? Her name wouldn’t have happened to be Natasha or Natalie or Natalya, would it?”
“Yes. Natalie Roman in fact,” Ilsa answered. She glanced over at Hunt. “But if he’s not Clint...?”
“Clint’s my cousin,” Brandt answered for Hunt, clearing up the question for both Ilsa and Luther. “It’s not unusual for us to be mistaken for each other. There’s a… strong family resemblance.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Hunt grumbled.
“You’re just mad because Stark tried to steal Benji and Benji would have willingly gone,” Brandt argued.
“Is that really the concern here?” Luther asked.
“No, you’re right,” Brandt replied. He shook his head. “Clint is going to have a field day with this one.” His eyes narrowed as he studied Ilsa. “You said one of your trainers.”
“One of the few that were not British,” she replied.
“You’ll have to tell me who some of the others were,” Brandt replied. “When we aren’t in the middle of things.”
Ilsa gave a sharp nod in reply, already concocting a cover story. It was none of his business who’d trained her.
Characters: Ilsa Faust, William Brandt, Ethan Hunt, Luther Stickell
Fandom: Mission Impossible 5
Series: Double Trouble
Written For:
Prompt: Ilsa’s fighting style
Summary: Ilsa is a bit surprised to see someone she thinks she knows when she’s rescued by the MI team.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: the movie so don’t read if you haven’t seen it
Warnings:
Disclaimer: No one recognizable belongs to me. Not making any money off this.
Second Disclaimer: Despite being fanfiction, this is MY work and I do not give anyone or any other site permission to republish this story under my name or any other without my authorization.
Author's Note: This hasn’t been beta’ed. None of my usual betas have seen the movie yet, so I apologize if there’s anything off about this. I did have an offer from someone to look it over, but I feel a bit odd about having someone I’m unfamiliar with reading a draft. I’ve read it over a couple of times and I think I’ve caught all the mistakes, but we’ll see. I might add a companion piece later where you see the other side of this (that will be clearer after you read the story.
Ilsa was so focused on everything that had been happening that she hadn’t consciously registered all the members of Hunt’s team until after they’d gotten away. She hadn’t even registered the familiar-seeming features of one of his teammates until they were face to face for a brief minute. She tried to shake off the feeling that she knew the blondish haired man and followed the rest of the team out since there was no time to confront the man at that moment though. It was as they were driving away that she turned around and blurted out, “Clint.”
All three men looked at her in confusion. “What?” the blonde demanded. “Hunt, road!” he added as the man in question took his eyes off the road.
“You’re Clint. Right?” she asked, continuing to stare at him.
“Why does she know Barton’s name?” Hunt demanded.
“Who’s this Clint?” Luther asked.
“I’m not Clint,” Brandt was quick to answer, ignoring his team for the moment. When Ilsa didn’t look convinced, he insisted, “No, really. I’m not Clint. Why does everyone always think I’m Clint?”
“I would imagine for the same reason everyone always thinks he’s you,” Hunt pointed out, swinging the car through a space almost too narrow to contain it.
Brandt swore in Russian, but no one was sure if he was swearing at Hunt’s driving or the conversation.
“If you aren’t Clint…” Ilsa said.
“How do you know Clint?” Brandt replied. He pointed at Luther when the large man opened his mouth. “I’ll answer that in a minute.”
The former British intelligence officer frowned at Brandt, but answered, “His partner was one of my trainers. I met him when he came to pick her up one day.”
A myriad of emotions crossed Brandt’s face as he sorted through her words. “You said her? Her name wouldn’t have happened to be Natasha or Natalie or Natalya, would it?”
“Yes. Natalie Roman in fact,” Ilsa answered. She glanced over at Hunt. “But if he’s not Clint...?”
“Clint’s my cousin,” Brandt answered for Hunt, clearing up the question for both Ilsa and Luther. “It’s not unusual for us to be mistaken for each other. There’s a… strong family resemblance.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Hunt grumbled.
“You’re just mad because Stark tried to steal Benji and Benji would have willingly gone,” Brandt argued.
“Is that really the concern here?” Luther asked.
“No, you’re right,” Brandt replied. He shook his head. “Clint is going to have a field day with this one.” His eyes narrowed as he studied Ilsa. “You said one of your trainers.”
“One of the few that were not British,” she replied.
“You’ll have to tell me who some of the others were,” Brandt replied. “When we aren’t in the middle of things.”
Ilsa gave a sharp nod in reply, already concocting a cover story. It was none of his business who’d trained her.
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