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Ethan Hunt walks into a bar...
The punchline? Well... how about the entire universe hates him? Or maybe he had just consumed way too many beers. Because up on the stage is a woman he thought he’d never see again. The woman he loved so much, whose loss still hurts so profoundly even after two years. His Ilsa. But there's no chance in hell that’s actually her. It can't be. He buried her lifeless body and cold blue eyes that used to look at his with so much warmth and adoration.
After defeating the entity and Gabriel, he lost his purpose in life and just drank and drank, trying to forget his miserable existence. He looked up again at the woman's beautiful face and listened to the words she was singing, thinking of Ilsa. "This isn't possible," he muttered to himself and decided he’d finally gone mad. Deep in thought, he didn't notice someone approaching him until, “Mind if I join you, handsome?” Ethan's head snapped up in shock because it was her. The not-Ilsa woman. Unable to form a full sentence, he just gestured to the empty chair in front of him. She smiled brightly at him before sitting down.
Turned out, the woman's name was Mae, and she knew nothing about the dangers of this world, certainly no agent of any kind. Although she could certainly fool any foul with her cunning nature and charming, sexy looks. Ethan learned that evening that she was a singer and lived her whole life in Nevada, dreaming of becoming a big star. Ethan thought to himself fondly that he could definitely see the potential.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" she smirked.
Ethan dropped his smile and shook his head a bit. "You just remind me of someone I used to know."
Mae laughed, "Has that line ever worked for you?" Despite her words, and a few (a lot) of drinks later, after dancing almost seductively right next to him, she whispered, “Wanna get out of here?”
And ooooh, boy. Ethan knew this was a very, very bad idea. He knew that despite her beauty, despite the unbelievable resemblance, she was not his Ilsa. But at the same time, he was just so drunk and had run out of fucks to give a millennia ago.
“Okay,” he said, his voice raspy as if he was high.
They stumbled through the millions of stairs that led to his huge apartment, laughing, and Ethan felt free like he hadn't in a long time. “Are you coming?” he smiled and offered Il- Mae a hand. She accepted it and joked, “You better not be a serial killer.” He smirked and opened the door, inviting her in.
The moment the door closed, her lips pressed against his, moving fast and passionately. Ethan pulled her even closer and ran his hand through her hair. Before he lost control of himself, he wished he had done this with Ilsa too. But when the sun rose and shined its sparks on Ils- fucking hell - on her face, he suddenly found it impossible to let her go. And she certainly seemed to like to keep coming back to him.
But as time passed, the edges started to blur, and Ethan sometimes forgot it wasn't actually Ilsa he was with. And if Mae did hear him say Ilsa's name a few times, she chose to ignore it. Until the day she couldn't anymore.
It started as a beautiful April morning, and she was watching Ethan sleep. He looked adorable when he let his guard down, without a care or worry. She smiled and slipped quietly out of bed, silently making her way into the kitchen to make some coffee. She opened a door, but the room wasn't a kitchen. Well, she did not pay much attention to rooms other than bedroom. She was busy, okay? The room she was in, looked like an office. Curiosity getting the better of her, she walked further in and looked around. She smiled at some pictures of Ethan and two other guys, apparently his friends. And then she saw it.
Under some more papers on the coffee table, there was another photo. And it had her and Ethan in it. She froze and slowly pulled the photo from under the pile of papers and newspapers. “Oh my god…” she whispered, terrified when she realized that, yes, indeed, it was Ethan and someone who looked exactly like her. She panicked and realized just how little she actually knew about the man she spent so many nights with.
“You just remind me of someone I used to know.” Oh, god. It wasn't just a pickup line, was it? She wasn't just a reminder. It was like it was her twin.
She ran back into the bedroom with the photo in her hand, terrified yet determined to find the answers. “Ethan.” No movement. “Ethan!” This time his nose scrunched a bit, and his eyes slowly opened. “Hey,” he said, his voice still rough from sleep, but at her expression, he woke up immediately.
Mae showed him the photo: “Ethan, who is she? Why does she look like me?”
And fuuuuuuck, he should've seen this one coming. He should've hid the photo better. It was one of their last happy moments in Venice before it all went to hell. He kept looking at it, trying to remind himself the woman now currently holding said picture is not the same as the one hugging him in the photo. And more importantly: he should've told her about Ilsa a long time ago. But somehow, the selfish part of him always stopped him from ruining this little fantasy.
Well, time to face the consequences.
Mae listened, literally unable to move, as Ethan explained that he was just as surprised as she was and that he had no idea why Mae looked like Ilsa and even considered them being related. They weren't. Not if the DNA tests could be trusted, anyway.
Mae looked at him, her face full of betrayal. “I heard you say her name. Ilsa's. When you were asleep. I thought you were having a nightmare, but…” She shook her head, still unable to process what had just happened, and then decided to make a run for it. Ethan didn’t stop her. He knew she needed space. He knew she might not come back...
The next time Mae came to visit Ethan's apartment, she wore a blue shirt. She had also worn a blue dress that first night. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and her face was closed off. It had been two weeks, and Ethan didn’t know what to say. She apparently did: “I've come to say goodbye. This... what we have—it cannot go on. I cannot be with somebody who doesn't love me—"
"Mae, I—" he tried, but she interrupted him again, “—I mean me. You don't love me. You love her. But I am not her. I am not Ilsa Faust. And I need someone who loves Mae, not Ilsa.” She looked away for a moment and then looked into his eyes again. “Goodbye, Ethan.”
She turned to go, but Ethan pulled her hand: “Wait, please…” he said, even though he still had no idea what to do or say. He's not good with feelings, he's not good with being straightforward. Ilsa was. And maybe that's the problem. Maybe Mae's right, and he can't let Ilsa go.
But how can he when it feels as if she was standing right in front of him?