Chapter Text
American Secret Service Safehouse
Eleven hours of blessed, dreamless unconsciousness; a cold shower; and two sandwiches later; Curt was still having trouble making sense of it all. As he chewed on a third peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he stared blankly at the peeling paint wall of the rundown safehouse, replaying the events of the last few weeks in his mind over and over again. The haze was finally starting to lift now there was food in his belly, but it didn’t make all of it any easier to stomach.
Revelation one: Owen was still alive. Owen was not dead. Not in any literal sense at least, dramatic hyperboles notwithstanding. Curt’s had more than a week now to come to terms with that, not that he has, not that anything felt easier with this knowledge. Whatever excitement, relief, whatever bubbly emotion that may have called hope that may have arisen from the fact had been rapidly drowned in derision and violence. And Curt was left with nothing but the brutal recognition of the fact that-
Revelation two: Owen hated, no, loathed him. Not that any of it was surprising, or the slightest bit undeserving. It had been one thing for Curt to wallow in his own guilt and grief, each condemnation self-imposed, imagined, ultimately self-serving. But to come face to face with Owen and to have that same vitriol spoken to him by the voice he had spent every agonising second of the past four years missing, by that face he would have given anything to see again. Curt felt like he’d been sucker-punched back to 1957, and all he had to do was close his eyes and he’d be back there on that catwalk, staring at the end of his hopes and dreams.
Revelation three: Owen was…
Owen was not a traitor.
He was still a villain, Curt felt justified in that claim as the victim of extensive torture at the man’s hand. Whether or not Owen was mad, whether or not Curt deserved it… Curt had felt Owen’s intent to kill, that night in the chair, the machete blade digging into his neck. None of Owen’s delight or rage in that moment was pretend, no matter how fake his accent or his cover. Owen had changed into something terrifying, someone Curt didn’t know if he could trust.
Yet they were… not on opposite sides.
With Curt’s particular profession, he was no stranger to earth-shaking revelations. But right now he felt like he was well over quota for an entire lifetime.
Deep cover agent. As much as it hurt Curt, he believed it. Even if too many questions still burned at the back of his mind, enough of Cynthia’s story made sense. All the times Owen had let Curt escape, the information he’d leaked left, right, and centre. Taking on a mission like this, it would be just like Owen, who had always loved a starring undercover role, where he could play his characters and flaunt his accents, delight in that dramatic reveal. And to thrive on the inside of a secret, powerful organization like Chimera? That was incredible, that was something only someone like Owen (and probably Curt) could achieve.
Outside, a car honked, and Curt sighed, glancing down at his suddenly flavourless sandwich before he took the final bites. God, he had royally fucked up, hadn’t he? If he hadn’t gone rogue, the prince would be still alive, he’d still have his job, and Owen… he would never have known Owen was still alive.
Cynthia’s revelation had answered just as many questions as it had created. It stood to reason that Owen was likely how Cynthia knew about the bomb deal to begin with. But why involve Tatiana? How did Owen survive? Did he ask for Curt to be on the mission? How is he working for American Intelligence? Why did he never contact Curt? Had he known what Curt had done to himself over the past years? Had he… been happy to see Curt crash and burn? Curt’s thoughts spun around and around in circles until he didn’t know what he was feeling. Embarrassment, relief, anger, bewilderment, excitement, grief, everything was a confusing cocktail that left nothing but a bitter taste in his mouth.
Curt didn’t know what to make of it. Whether there was still something left of that old Owen, the Owen he had known and loved so deeply. Whether it meant Curt was every bit the dumb, worthless, impulsive, arrogant asshole that Cynthia painted him out to be for not having connected the dots himself. Whether he could afford to… hope, that something positive may come of this clusterfuck of a situation he’d landed himself in.
Curt closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. He forced himself to stop thinking, to stop dwelling . Overthinking wasn’t going to help him now. He still had allies, and he had an objective, he knew… for better or worse, enough of the facts to move forward. And the skeleton of a plan was forming in his head.
Dusting the crumbs from his hands, he got up, grabbed his coat and gear, and headed for the door.
Agent Curt Mega had a mission to complete.
Barbara’s Apartment
Curt’s arrival in Barbara’s apartment was, when he later reflected on it, possibly one of his least elegant attempts at infiltration.
The young tech had grown to be a friend over the course of the last disaster of a mission, and Curt’s four-year self-imposed exile having turned all of his old work friendships stale. Right now, Barbara was the closest thing Curt had to a connection on the inside. She also conveniently lived only in a first floor apartment less than twenty mintes away. With Curt’s expertise, it had been easy enough to locate the building. (In particular, Barbara had on more than one occasion given Curt her number and address, telling him to drop by ‘any time’ with a decidedly salacious wink.) Then, all he had to do was climb the exterior, and shimmy open the cracked window.
It had been late enough and dark enough that night for Curt to justify his stealth entrance. Except half way inside, Barbara had spotted him in his all-black outfit and immediately began to scream as she grabbed a baseball bat and started swinging. In the panicked hysteria that followed, Curt desperately assured her that yes, it was just Curt and no, she was not about to be murdered. It didn't stop Barbara from getting several good hits in before recognition finally hit her.
“Oh my God, Curt?”
The baseball bat stopped mid-sing, and Curt, after a frozen second of mortal fear, used the opportunity to go from cowering to closing the window behind him and pulling shut the curtains. Patches of pain burned along his arms and shoulders, pain from what will soon become very nasty bruises. God, the woman was stronger than she looked.
“Barb, hey!” Curt inelegantly unfolded to his full height. “I just uh, thought I’d drop by, I need to talk to you.”
“You could have used the front door!” Barbara said, still more than a little hysterical as she tossed the bat aside. She was dressed in a green robe and fluffy slippers, her hair a chaotic halo around her head. “God, I thought you were some sort of rapist!”
“Look I- I’m sorry.” Curt said, flailing just a little for Barbara to keep her voice down. “I don’t usually climb into... women’s apartments. I just couldn’t risk anyone knowing I’ve come to visit you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, for one, think of how that’d look. A young, single woman, getting a gentleman caller in the middle of the night? People would talk.”
“Well,” Barbara shrugged, “is that really bad? I mean if it was you I-”
“And second,” Curt rushed on before she could finish that particular thought, his voice breaking just a little. “I… don’t technically work with you anymore.”
“What? Oh Curt…” Barbara breathed, her face falling in sympathy. “Don’t tell me Cynthia…”
“Fired me, yeah,” Curt snapped, defensive. “But listen, Barb, you’re still on the inside.” Then, a moment of sudden and paralyzing doubt. “Right?”
“What? Oh. Yes! I mean, Cynthia told me off and I was super scared at the start but then she said my work was too impor-”
“Fantastic!” Curt grinned widely. “Then I have work for you.”
They settled on Barbara’s living room couch. In broad strokes, Curt recounted the events of the last week to the young tech, explaining the chase and the confrontation while leaving out the more embarrassing and compromising details. Barbara listened with wide eyes, slipping closer and closer toward him as he talked. Curt pressed himself tighter and tighter into the armrest.
“Chimera, Owen…” Curt said at the end of his perhaps too dramatic recount. “They’re still out there, and I know that I’m not technically a spy anymore, but I... we still have a job to do.”
Barbara was, once she had calmed down, dependable as always. Persuading her to lend her assistance and expertise was easy, even if he had to less than elegantly sidestep her very clear and aggressive interest.
“Will you help me, Barb?” Curt said with his saddest, most imploring puppy eyes. Once upon a time, it could make Owen cave without fail and do things Curt's way.
Barbara, with even less resistance, positively melted, her eyes going soft as she smiled in infatuation. “I’d be honored. Anything for you.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Curt said. He finally felt something of his old self, here in front of Barbara, who treated him with the same idolatry she always did. Though he had left out the most damning parts of the entire tale, the fact of his failures didn’t shake the young woman’s faith in him in the slightest. It was empowering, to be reminded that he didn’t have to be defined by his failures.
“And, uh, how’s everything going for you?” Curt stumbled on. Barbara was taking on an enormous risk for him by agreeing, and though Curt knew she wouldn’t get into any real trouble as his mission had Cynthia’s implied approval, Barbara didn’t know it. After everything she’d done for him, he knew that she deserved better than his usual dismissiveness.
At his prompt, the young woman lit up, and excitedly launched into a story about her department’s new merger and the opportunities arising in her field.
“I have so many new project ideas,” Barb rambled enthusiastically. “Especially with the new advancements in satellite technology, I mean just think about it. We already track our satellites via the radio transmissions, but what if we could reverse the process? I mean, with proper observation and analysis of the Doppler effect, you could proba-” Then, she sucked in a breath in surprised realization. “Oh. Oh no, I’m sorry, this must all be terribly boring.”
“No! This is… interesting!” Curt said, slightly wild eyed but with a smile that didn’t feel entirely forced. “I mean, I’ve honestly always been impressed with your work, the cool gadgets you come up with?” He stumbled around for the right word. “Awesome!”
Barbara brightened even more at his praise. “Oh Curt… Oh gosh darn it… I’m going to miss you so much!”
She threw herself into Curt’s arms, and Curt wrapped his arms around her as she squeezed him in a tight hug.
“You’re not just saying that, are you?” Barbara said as she withdrew, looking genuinely uncertain.d
Curt felt a part of him soften with guilt, knowing that he’d never quite shown her department the respect that they probably deserved. “Of course! I mean, Tatiana told me how you found that island with the compound! Without you we’d probably still be bumbling around the Pacific Ocean.” He laughed awkwardly, then paused as he reconsidered what he’d just said.
“Oh! Yeeeeah...” Barbara smiled bashfully, wiggling her shoulders. “I suppose I did.”
“You know, Barb,” Curt said, the lightness in his voice a little forced as the question rose inside his chest. “I don’t think I ever asked, how did you manage to find the right island?” He was every bit the impressed, approving agent, and the young tech straightened at his question.
“Well, it’s not like it was hard ,” Barbara said. “I’d actually already been researching locations that fit the exact criteria Tatiana gave me. So when she ca-”
“What?” His tone was harsher than Curt meant for it to be. “What do you mean you were already researching islands?”
“Well, remember when I was talking to you about how the future of espionage might be in technology? I mean there’s been so much talk about it in our department I ended up raising it with Cynthia when she came by our office a few months ago? And she was so amazingly supportive! We were talking about data collection and archival and she said I should look into some location options. And everyone agrees that uninhabited islands would be perfect-”
More out of habit than intention, Barbara’s excited rambling faded into white noise in Curt’s ears. Cynthia. Cynthia had asked Barbara to research islands months ago. She had known about Chimera’s facilities. It was one thing to hear her say it but for Barbara to unknowingly corroborate... Knowing what he did now about Owen’s undercover work, Chimera had to be the real reason for her interest. It made complete sense, yet Curt still found himself surprised by the depth of work that had already gone on behind the scenes without his knowledge. (Did you think this entire agency just sat around with our collective thumbs up our asses for the past four years?)
God he’d… really really fucked up, assuming he knew best.
“-and actually I’ve been focusing on looking into more islands since Tatiana blew that facility up. Did you know there’s actually a lot more that have mystery compounds on them?”
“I…” Curt snapped back to the conversation. ( You’ve destroyed that island facility, but what of the others? ) “Have you reported this to Cynthia?”
“Well, not yet. I’m still finalising the list but I’m pretty confident about at at least two of them. I'm pretty sure the size and layout are just like the one in that you guys destroyed and that can’t be merely a coincidence.”
“You need to tell her, if they’re Chimera compounds then she needs to know about them, and we need to take them out.”
“Yeah I can do that! I mean, I was going to report to her next week anyway, I thought a day or two wouldn’t make that much of a difference, you know?”
Curt did his best to reassure her, and to thank her for her help. But speaking with Barbara, he could feel his own distraction as he pictured the conversations that must have taken place without him knowing. When had Owen notified Cynthia? How long had they known about the network, the compounds? Three months? Six? Even longer?
Then he remembered himself six months ago, miserable, drunk, barely beginning to pull himself back together after years in a downward spiral.
He had to fix this. Curt was going to fix this. He wasn’t that pathetic man anymore. He was a spy. And he was going to take down Chimera.
American Secret Service Safehouse
Out on his own for good, it took barely forty-eight hours for Curt to start missing agency resources. And it wasn’t just the surprisingly good cafeteria food back in HQ, or the fun gadgets he got to play around with, but the part where analysts would comb through files and reports and make little summaries that Curt could simply choose to ignore.
It was well and good for Cynthia to announce that Curt had to track down Owen and join his criminal group, but it didn’t mean that Curt had the faintest idea where the man was. Losing Owen’s trail for good back in Russia had been the only reason he’d returned to Cynthia with his tail between his legs. Because God knew Curt had been ready to chase his old partner to the other end of the Earth if that was what it took to bring him to justice.
Now it was just embarrassing to think back on all of the moral grandstanding he’d done along that chase. If you agree to give up Chimera- Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't believe we're making a difference. Curt must have looked like a fool.
It had been days since their confrontation in Russia. Owen could be anywhere in the world by now, and it was pointless for Curt to try and pick up where he’d left off. So with a shortage of leads, Curt started his investigation by looking into the ‘Deadliest Man Alive’. He’d never bothered to read the brief he'd been given before he flew off to Monte Carlo in what felt like a different lifetime. Now he was paying for it.
With Barbara’s help, the complete case file on the man was delivered to Curt two days later in a suitcase. And it was thick enough that it took Curt eleven beers and a bottle and a half of whiskey to get through. It didn’t help that the man had over eleven hundred attributed kills, or that the more Curt stared at the mountain of paper, the more he wanted to light it all on fire and maybe end his own existence along the way. There were many reasons why he’d chosen a field career, and avoiding this had been high on that list.
What was interesting, once Curt had skimmed his way, stop-start, in agony, through the first few dozen pages, was that the man had in fact been active since the early ‘50s. Several of the murders and incidents had happened at times when Curt knew Owen had been in his company, which meant that at one point, this ‘Deadliest Man’ must have been an entirely separate person. Curt caught himself breathing easier at the revelation, realizing that just a small part of him had worried that the formidable body count was actually Owen’s. Though when he thought about it, he doubted their own figures were low, considering the carnage that could be left in their wake when missions inevitably went sour.
A few hundred pages later, Curt had pieced most of the story together. The ‘Deadliest Man Alive’ had come to prominence as a mercenary in the mid 50s and then earned his moniker around the same time Curt ‘retired’. Curiously, the murder of young women had stopped altogether from mid-1960 onward. From about April, the focus of the violence turned toward rivals and criminals - fellow mercenaries, arms dealers, human traffickers, all scum of the earth types few would miss. Curt could only suppose that was when Owen had taken over the identity. Had he killed the original? Curt suspected, even hoped so. The contrast in behaviour was so stark it was clear that Owen never had any intention of staying true to character, despite his dramatics about ‘researching and rehearsing a role to perfection’.
It was reassuring, confusing even, to think that some of his Owen might still be there beneath all of the cruelty Curt had witnessed and endured. That perhaps Owen was using his cover identity to do a little bit of good, ridding the world of evil men like von Nazi.
What was he doing now? As the days passed by and the safehouse grew into an increasingly chaotic fire hazard, Curt's thoughts revolved around little else but Owen, drifting back to his former love again and again whether Curt wanted to or not. Would he be expecting Curt? Was Owen looking for him too?
There would be no immediate answers, but Curt was ready to work for them. The file had given Curt a handful of leads and locations to look into. And Curt had to bet on the fact that the identity was too useful, too well-established, for Owen to just simply toss aside. More than anything, Curt had the feeling that Owen wanted to be found. All Curt had to do was find the 'Deadliest Man Alive', and he would find Owen Carvour.
He just had no fucking idea what he was going to do after.