Chapter Text
They tell you these things. They tell you these things that you never thought you’d hear in your life, and they say them like they’re so nonchalant. Water cooler talk.
They say these things and you are supposed to say “Yes, sir.” or “Yes, ma’am” or “of course” or “I plan to.” They say these things, and you become a walking thesaurus. You learn a thousand ways to express your agreement. And when you can’t say anything at all, you nod your head. They tell you these things, and then they don’t let you say no.
They give Curt a license to kill, which surprises him, because he thought that was made up for the movies. But it’s not so much a license as much as it is a superior leaning across a desk and telling him that “lethal force may be required for this mission” and that his current status gives him “authorization to exert such force on this, and any other future missions, unless otherwise specified.”
And Curt nods, because he knows the right response is acceptance, because the right response is always acceptance. Curt nods, because when he pictured this conversation in his mind, when he daydreamed this promotion, he always ended it with a handshake and an appreciative smile and a “Thank you, I won’t let you down.”, but now his throat feels hoarse, and he can’t find the words, much less the smile.
It’s not just killing that he gets permission for, of course. It’s law enforcement capabilities more than anything. He gets to keep his gun on him for any and all missions. He’ll be reporting directly to Cynthia Houston now, God help him. He gets to take on bigger assignments, high risk high reward situations, much more thrilling. Finally, he gets exactly what he’d wanted. It comes with a new title and everything: Special Agent. In theory, he should be very proud of himself. But the words “lethal force” echo in his ears.
When Curt picks up his gun the next time, it feels heavier than he remembers.
Curt isn’t sure how the organization of MI6 works, exactly. And at this point, it’d be too embarrassing to ask. Owen always seems to know more than him about everything, so Curt has no intention of letting him have the satisfaction of one more moment of incompetence to hang over his head. Besides, he can surmise everything he needs to know from the context clues.
Owen must’ve gotten whatever the MI6 equivalent promotion was to Curt’s. They were paired up together on a mission again, but in all the briefings there was an air of seriousness. This time was “for real.” Of course, every mission he’s had, even the ones he’d barely call missions, during his training, was for real.
One of the higher-ups gives Curt some advice when he passes him the hallway, tells him that he should remember that it’s “not a game anymore.”
Curt doesn’t like the sound of that. He doesn’t like the idea of ending up like some of the other agents he’s seen, the real hardened ones. The “glass is half empty, but at least it’s got booze in it” types. It’s not that he doesn’t take his job seriously, he does. He cares about making a difference. But if it ever was a game, it’s still a game. There’s just new rules. He can kill. And he can get killed. And then the game is over.
Against the odds, Curt feels lucky.
But he gets paired with Owen again, and they hardly ever pair up agents who don’t have the same clearances. Makes things messy. He’s together with Owen again, so they must be at the same level still. He wishes he’d learned from Owen himself, though. Wishes Owen would call more. But neither one of them is supposed to take many personal calls, something about it being safer to assume that every phone is tapped, and personal attachments making their line of work more difficult, and time zone differences causing contact to be near impossible.
But it’d be nice to hear his voice more often.
“Owen Carvour from MI6. You remember him, right?”
How the hell was Curt supposed to forget?
Owen had made small talk, first night of their first mission. Asked him about goals, aspirations.
Curt thought the question sounded stuffy and intellectual. (Curt often thought Owen, in general, sounded a little stuffy and intellectual.) But, a little tipsy (they’d been celebrating a successful first day), he indulged the question.
He was glad, at least, that they were getting along. Apparently, the agency didn’t expect them to. They never said so to his face, but he’d heard the phrase “last resort” thrown around quite a bit before conversations ceased when he entered the room. He didn’t have the guts to ask if Owen had picked up a similar inclination, but he suspected he had.
“I want to be the best spy. The best.”
Internally he kicked himself for his answer, realizing that it probably made him sound childish and conceited. Externally, he grinned and tried to play it off as genuine overconfidence.
That’s what worked for him in interrogations. He forced the question of why he was treating a casual conversation like an interrogation out of his mind.
He could hear Owen laugh before he replied. “Isn’t that what everyone in our line of work wants?”
“I guess.” Curt shrugged. “Do you think I can’t do it?” he challenged.
“That’s not at all what I was saying. I think you’re capable of accomplishing a great many things. And I do hope you get the promotions you’re after. I’ve got similar plans of moving up the ranks, as it were. And I think I’d like to see more of you.”
And maybe it was the alcohol talking, but Curt had the same thought. Yeah, I’d like to see more of you, too.
They tell him he’ll need a partner on this mission, for his own protection. “By the way,” they start the sentence so indifferently, “By the way, part of the reason we’ve paired you up is that we have reason to believe someone’s ordered a hit on you.”
Curt has always found briefings boring, but he tries his best to listen, even when he really doesn’t want to hear it, and it’d be so easy just to let his mind wander.
But he tries his best to listen, and they say things about “passing the tip on to their friends across the pond,” and “being extremely careful” but also “staying focused on the actual mission at hand”, and “intercepted transmissions that use the phrase ‘nip it in the bud’” and their relation to the plans to target younger, newer agents.
And “Oh, your flight leaves tomorrow, so get packing.”
And what can Curt do? He nods.