Walker loses track of where they're going after a while - he sticks with Hunt, because for the moment, sticking with Hunt is both the job and the plan, so Walker figures that their destination is something like 'away from innocent civilians who might get a boo-boo' and 'towards a remote location where two people can comfortably take out a hit squad'.
Hunt's morals might be a bit on the childish side, but nobody ever claimed the man lacked tactical insight. Just balls, rationality and the ability to make the right call at the right time.
"You good?" Hunt asks. He sounds out of breath.
Walker wonders if they've stopped running because Hunt needs a breather, or because Hunt urgently requires an update on Walker's state of being. (Well, no. One of those is definitely more likely than the other.)
"Are you good?" he replies. "Not going to leave all the heavy lifting to me, are you?"
Hunt flashes him a grin. Walker imagines the sensation of his fist connecting with that face. "Now does that sound like something I would do?"
More like something I would do, if only someone didn't prefer you alive and well.
Walker prefer working alone. It saves on the paperwork, the fake sentiments. The whole 'oops, did I just leave my team mates to die in order to accomplish the mission? I'm so sorry' spiel.
"I don't know you well enough to answer that," Walker says, listening for the sound of their pursuers.
"Pretty sure we lost them." Hunt makes it sound like a good thing. Walker almost asks in what delusional happy fantasy world Hunt lives, where successfully running away from people who want you dead counts as a win. (He does know Hunt, though.) "So how about you answer my question now?"
"You're not the boss of me," Walker says.
Hunt gives him a look bordering on incredulous. Walker figures Hunt probably goes around asking all sorts of people how they're feeling at any time of the day. "For the duration of this mission, I am."
Walker wants to fight someone. Killing someone would be even better, though truth be told, right now, he'd happily settle for just beathing the shit out of Hunt. Which is only going to happen if he can goad Hunt into making the first move.
It'll be something nice to put in the report. Sloane should eat it right up.
"So are you good, or aren't you?" Ethan asks. "It's a simple question."
"I'm good," Walker says. No pursuit, no one watching or listening in: he can make this work. With a bit of finessing, it should all turn out rather well. "You?"
Hunt nods. "Rendezvous in two hours. Make yourself comfortable."
"What, here?" Walker has no idea where they are. He's fine with that. He's less fine with their apparently having been a plan B nobody bothered to tell him about. "Why two hours?"
Hunt shrugs and slumps down against a wall.
"We were a distraction." Walker starts to feel seriously annoyed. A hit squad interrupting you on the job - well, that happens. But this? This is too much. "You son of a bitch."
"Make yourself comfortable," Hunt repeats.
"You know what, I don't think I will." Walker takes a step back, half-turning, as if he's considering going back the way they've come. "Those guys who were after us, they were professionals. Do you really want to risk one of them making it back in time to kill Dunn?"
"Benji's fine," Hunt says.
"For now, sure." Walker knows he's pushing the right button. It's only a matter of figuring out the proper amount of pressure to apply.
Hunt scrambles to his feet. Walker fantasizes about kicking him back down again. It would almost be too easy, he thinks. Too quick.
Of course, Hunt might not stay down. Nobody survives as long as Hunt has without at least a few tricks up their sleeve. Without getting their hands dirty once in a while.
"All right," Hunt says. "You want my attention, you got it. What else do you want?"
"I want to make the world a better, cleaner place by going back and putting a bullet into some very bad people." Never let it said Walker isn't willing to play to his audience. "I'd rather thought you'd like that."
"No. We stick to the plan."
"The plan," Walker repeats. "The plan you didn't tell me about. That plan."
"I needed you to act naturally," Hunt says, which is such a blatant lie it takes Walker's breath away.
He almost likes Hunt for it, a little. "Right. After all, I'm with the CIA. Not like they train us to act naturally during a gunfight or anything."
"Are we going to have a problem here?" Hunt makes it sound like a question, except that it isn't.
"Well." Walker cracks his knuckles. "We do have two hours to kill. Why not have ourselves a bit of fun?" It's not quite the 'taunt Hunt into losing his cool' set-up he'd originally intended, but then, any good spy knows how to improvise.
"You can't be serious," Hunt says. He hasn't been trained to stand there and take a hit, though; when Walker swings at him, Hunt responds. Rather beautifully, not that Walker's in this for the artistic experience.
"Think of it as training. A bit of sparring practice."
"This isn't the place. Or the time," Hunt says, but he's moving now. There's something in his eyes - oh, yes. Deep down inside, Hunt's one of them. Deep, deep down inside.
"Two hours," Walker reminds him. "Think we can keep ourselves entertained for that long? Tell you what, why don't we make things really interesting?" Nobody, no matter how good, can stretch a one-on-one fight to two hours, even allowing for a bit of patch-up time.
Something shifts in Hunt's expression. "Fuck you, Walker."
Of all the things Hunt could have said to de-escalate the situation (and to be fair, there were a couple of things; Walker does need to play nice for the moment, after all, more or less) that one really, really doesn't. It makes Walker doubt for a moment who's in control here, who's trying to push who over the edge.
"Happy to oblige, if you ask me nicely enough." Sex makes people stupid. Plus, it's a lot less work than beating someone up for information you don't want people to know you're after. "Shall we say that in the unlikely event you end up on top, I'll return the favor?"
Hunt opens his mouth, quite probably to say it was just an expression, not a serious offer or request or whatever.
Walker decides not to give him the chance.
"Was that as good for you as it was for me?" Two hours on the dot, more or less, according to Walker's watch. He wouldn't go so far as to say he's spent the time productively, but he's cautiously optimistic something may come of it yet.
And if not, well, nothing wrong with a bit of R&R. Not like it's going to make it any harder for Walker to pull the trigger when the time comes. If the time comes.
Hunt's not the only one prone to overplanning and undersharing.
"The CIA really does a thorough job training you people, huh?" Hunt says.
Walker grins. He doesn't mean to, he thinks. It's just the moment, the endorphins cruising through his system, the memory of Hunt getting down and dirty. "That? Strictly natural talent."
Hunt snorts. "Pull the other one."
"It's the truth," Walker says. He tries not to feel stung. It's all part of the game. Hunt got caught with his pants down, so now he's trying to get to Walker, and instead of simply enjoying the afterglow and the satisfaction of a job well done, Walker's letting Hunt get to him.
"Sure, it's the truth."
Walker could reach out his hands and strangle Hunt right now, and this would all be over. Instead, he finds himself pulling Hunt upright, so that they can make it to the rendezvous, rejoin the rest of the team and pretend they're all the good guys, here to save the world.