Shadows and Lies

The midday sun drives chilly breeze. The Thames churns, marking the passage of recorded time. Big Ben sounds it bell – twelve times. An hour from now, back to one. An hour from now, time will not record our parting of the ways. Even now, we can keep secrets.

And so we drink, anonymous in the throngs of people around us. Bring glass to our lips, and reap the harvest of our lives. And the lies we must live to preserve them.

I have been in London before. Twice, at least. Once, to expose a lie, a rogue agent to my masters. The second, to expose a lie, a rogue agent to his own masters. London, city of lies. London, to our own lie. To liars, spies, and scoundrels, we drink. With our own faces – the only piece of truth we have.

The clock falls silent. The Thames and people move on. A cloud covers the sun, and the grey sky looks down from above. On we, further in the grey than any of them. No matter what our masters may claim.

Do we lie to ourselves, I ask? Do we mind? Have we lived lies oh so long that it has become natural? Do we lie, telling ourselves that a meeting in London will be safe, however brief it is, as Big Ben counts down the minutes of what time the world leaves to us? What if the lies ended? Not the lies of the world – they shall never cease – but our own? Lies cost someone close to me once. I am left to ask whether the truth will set us free?

You drink, and shake your head. No. Even if we know the truth, the lies are our dominion. The lies are all we have. We rage against them, protest against the fates, and to our last, spit at the chains. But they all remain. We remain. It is all that we are, and will be. All that we can be.

We work well together – that is a truth that our masters can accept. And that is all they shall tolerate. An hour from now, I shall catch a flight and see what 'truth' I have to bring, whether it be wearing a mask of falsehood, or spreading far more nebulous truths to deceive our enemies. Two hours from now, you shall depart as well – heading east, as I head west. Towards where the sun rises, yet keeping in the shadows. Such is our dominion.

The hour passes, and the time has come. We wait, our silence deafening the turn of the world. Reflecting on what briefly was. Reflecting on what will come. Savouring the moment, as brief as it is. Doomed to be forgotten, as the clock strikes one. We linger…

…And depart.

Wishing it could be different. Wishing for so much.

But we both have our missions.

And some things are impossible.


A/N

So, since Rogue Nation seems to have forgotten all about Julia, does that mean Ethan and Ilsa are open to shipping? I mean, Faust has been confirmed to be returning in Mission: Impossible 6, so...