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“You know, killing me won’t take the system offline, so. What are you doing?” Owen’s voice wavered as he spoke, cracked, broke. He almost seemed to fidget, eyes locked on Curt’s, wide and uncertain.
Curt knew him. He knew that look, that tone. Owen was scared; of what exactly he couldn’t pin down, not anymore. But he was afraid, and above all… something wasn’t right. Something was wrong - had been wrong, the whole time, had felt twisted and warped and made his stomach churn in confusion. Because after all, if he truly was this, then…
“Why did you tell me all of that?”
Owen seemed taken aback, momentarily off his guard, and Curt couldn’t help but feel slightly proud. There was a moment of pause before Owen responded. “Tell you what, Curt? That it was all for naught?”
“No. About Chimera. About their facilities. About their goals. You’re a damn good spy, Owen, I know you are. And I know what you do and don’t tell people on the job. So why would you tell me?” Curt attempted to keep his voice level and smooth, despite his emotions rising as his thoughts swirled around violently, loudly, his head almost pounding with the strain of it all.
Yet again, Owen didn’t reply immediately, but Curt could see him quiver. He attempted to speak once, twice, his hand rising then falling back down in his uncertainty. Curt nodded his head slowly, lips turning to a fine line.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s… that’s what I thought,” Curt said quietly, and his hand with the gun lowered. For a moment he stared away from Owen - anywhere but, really - at the railing, the ground. The ground. The compound they were in was far too familiar, and it made him itch in discomfort. He took in a breath, then met Owen’s eyes once more.
“Can we at least try to talk? Owen?” His voice was soft in tone, though the edge remained. Owen opened his mouth as if to speak, but Curt added on before he could, “I’ve spent the last four years mourning you. Blaming myself. And your fall - it was my fault, I know that. But, I… If I had known you survived… I wouldn’t have left. Do you realize that, Owen?”
The air between them was thick and heavy, almost suffocating. Each second that passed felt like agony to Curt, the uneasy feeling in his stomach growing and gnawing at him. Then, suddenly, Owen’s voice cut through the haze. “I won’t disclose the other facilities to you,” he said coolly, his tone reserved and neutral. He was attempting to distract, and it made Curt furious.
“I don't care about the facilities, Owen! I care about you! I used to, all those years. All the four you were dead. I still want to. Please, just… please give me a reason to,” Curt nearly begged him, foot moving up one step. Owen didn’t move.
“Curt,” Owen said quietly, his voice barely audible. His gaze was weary, but he didn’t let his eyes wander away from the man in front of him. “Hand me your gun.”
“What?” Curt’s reply was instant. Right after, his mind spun with thoughts. Why? What will he do?
Does he still want me dead?
Owen didn’t wait for another response, and instead, quickly brought a knee up to Curt’s gut, taking that moment to snatch the gun away from him. Before he recovered, Owen pointed the gun at a corner on the ceiling and shot. Curt could hear glass and plastic breaking, falling to the floor below.
“Owen, what are you-” He was cut off, Owen putting a hand to his mouth and an arm around his shoulders. He was then led up the stairs, down a short hall, to a door. Owen shoved it open with his hip, and the cold air of the outside hit like a whip to the face. The grip on him was released almost immediately as Owen shoved him away, Curt stumbling a bit before regaining his senses.
Curt looked up at Owen in confusion, one hand on his stomach. His eyes traveled down to the gun still in Owen’s hands, and that fear coursed through him. He felt sick.
“It’s always you, Curt Mega,” Owen spits, saying his name as if it’s poison in his mouth. He was trembling, and Curt couldn’t tell if that was due to the cold or his emotions. “You always do this to me, I-” He paused, shaking his head. “...You want to know the truth? Right? I’ve never been able to hate you, Curt. Not truly.”
Their eyes met, locked on.
“I wanted to. After you left. I wanted to, so fucking bad. But I couldn’t, because… you’re Curt. Isn’t that just the saddest thing?” Owen went on, his voice growing hysterical.
Curt’s chest constricted, pounded, hurt, choked. A mess of feelings, all working against him. His mind moved too fast for him to identify any clear, concrete thought. He felt too much.
“Chimera… They saved my life. They brought me back from the brink. And I owed them. You made me owe them, you made me fall under their thumb, you- ”
Like before, Owen’s voice cut off abruptly, and Curt could see tears in his eyes. He could see that Owen didn’t intend on letting them fall.
There was a clatter, and Curt looked down. The gun - his gun - was on the ground. He didn’t look up, finding it much easier to remain staring at the fallen gun. “You ought to leave here now,” Owen spoke, his voice low and controlled. “While you can.”
Curt didn’t move, didn’t look elsewhere. He couldn’t. The wailing of the cold wind was all he could hear, his eardrums sticking to it, absorbing the sound, like it was something to hold on to. He didn’t know what to say.
But it came out anyway.
“Without you?”
Curt could hear the smile in Owen’s voice when he replied, “That’s the ideal, love.”
He felt his head shaking before he could really think about it. It shook, and his body, in turn, and he crumpled. “I can’t, Owen. Not again. Never again.” His chest hurt. His stomach hurt. His head was pounding. Throbbing.
“Figured it’d come easily to you. Why not a second time, eh? Not like it’s undeserved,” Owen’s voice was calm, scarily so, and Curt knew he was still putting up a facade. Still pretending, still acting. He’s so tired of acting.
“Come with me. Please.”
“You know I can’t.”
Was he hyperventilating? It felt like it, though Curt tried desperately not to let it show. He couldn’t trust this Owen, not with that. Not yet. How he wanted to, though.
His eyes left the gun, finally, and he let them rest on Owen’s face, taking him in. His body language was so opposed to his voice and his words. He supposed Owen was banking on his faraway gaze for that reason, though. “Then you should know I’m not asking.”
Owen went silent, and it was his turn to break eye contact, it seemed. He brought a hand up to his face, over his mouth, then it curled into a fist and dropped to his side. “What would you tell them, Curt?”
“I…” He stopped. He didn’t know, if he was being honest. He didn’t even know if he still had a job at the agency after what he did at the conference, and with this… What could he tell them? What would they do?
“No one… no one has to know. You can stay off the grid. You can… you…” Curt’s already-weak voice trailed off in his desperate attempt, and he heard Owen scoff.
“It’s not that simple, Curt. You know that. There is no escape for me, here. Chimera will find me. They’ll catch up. So you have to run, while you can. You understand that much, right?”
It was all wrong. All wrong. It all felt wrong.
“Curt. You can’t save me, this time.”
Wrong. Wrong. It was wrong.
His body moved ahead of his brain, and he could see and feel himself walking forward, towards Owen; he could feel himself embrace him, could feel as Owen ever so slowly wrapped his arms around Curt as well, as his head settled into his shoulder, as they held each other just like before, though this time with apprehension.
That, he knew, was right. It wasn’t quite perfect, wasn’t the same, not yet. But it was right.
“I’m going to. I’m going to… to wipe Chimera off the face of the planet. Okay? I will, Owen.”
Owen’s hands pulled slightly at Curt’s jacket, held on. He could feel the rise and fall of Owen’s chest, could feel his shakes.
“...Okay,” Owen said quietly.
They held another moment there, one more moment of patchwork intimacy, before Curt gently pushed him away and tapped on his watch.
“Barb.”
“ Curt! Oh, thank God, Curt, I was so scared there, I mean, you really had me goin’, you know, I thought Owen was gonna-”
“We need to get out of here.” Curt’s voice resembled Owen’s from earlier - cold, fake. He didn’t intend on spilling his guts to Barb, not yet.
“Oh! Um… Sure thing. Tatiana and I will meet you there. Just keep your tracker up. Also, um… what… what happened, with-”
“Great, thanks Barb, see you soon,” he cut in quickly, then turned it off. She’d figure it out soon, and that was that.
Owen stared at him, something odd in his gaze. However, Curt tried not to pay mind to it, and he picked up his gun, gesturing with it to Owen. “Let’s go.”
“You aren’t going to warn them?”
“No.”
Owen nodded, long and slow. But he did as told, and followed after Curt as the two made their way out of the building. Luckily enough, there were no complications.
The car met them fairly quick, and as Curt opened the door and Owen’s presence was realized, the two women inside visibly startled. “Curt?” Tatiana spoke up, tone a warning.
Curt fell into the backseat, Owen slipping in after him. “It’s okay. It’s fine. He’s fine,” Curt said flatly. He was far too tired, the whole night’s stress taking a toll on him. Whether or not Owen recognized that, he didn’t know.
Tatiana scrutinized Owen for a moment, before nodding quickly. “...So you say. Let us go then.”
The car pulled out of the lot, and as they drove, Curt barely registered the moving shapes outside. His mind was elsewhere. He slowly looked back at Owen, who was already staring right at him. Their hands were both set carefully on the seat, mere inches apart. Were it not for the women in the car with them, he’d try talking to Owen again, but as it stood, all he could do was lose himself in Owen’s equally-exhausted gaze.
He was tired, too.
At the hotel, Owen was let into Curt’s room. Barb and Tatiana had booked one for themselves, but Curt had one alone - until now.
“Sorry. It’s just one queen. It’s only for tonight, though,” Curt apologized almost robotically. Since they’d entered the hotel, he’d refused to meet Owen’s eyes, but he could feel them on himself near constantly.
“I don’t mind,” Owen’s voice similarly held little emotion to it, but what was there made Curt’s chest hurt. Again. He didn’t know how long he could do this, really. Not while they were this way.
They’d gotten into the bed at the same time, and Curt flicked the bedside lamp off, cloaking the room in darkness. Owen was right there. Right next to him, and they were alone.
He shifted in the bed, on to his side, facing him. Owen seemingly had the same idea.
When Owen spoke, it was quiet, tentative. “...You know why I-”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t mean-”
“I know.”
Silence fell between them, and for a moment, nothing. But, Curt shifted forward, and he raised a hand to hold Owen’s upper arm, letting it slip around him. Owen didn’t stop him.
“I never did stop loving you,” Curt said. In the darkness of the hotel room, Owen’s face was indiscernible. Then, he felt Owen’s hand cup his cheek, thumb slowly brushing over it.
“You’ve always had too much faith in me, love. I was never worth it, even before.”
Owen’s face fell, and he held on tighter to Owen. “That isn’t true. You were always worth it. And I want to have faith in you again. I want to trust you again. Can you do that? Can you let me trust you?”
Another heavy pause, though it was now drenched in darkness and equally-heavy feelings. Owen hummed a little, before he asked, “You’ll get rid of Chimera?”
“Yes.”
“Then… yes, I can.”
Curt let out a breath, the slightest smile on his face. His hand moved upward, resting on the back of Owen’s neck, his fingers running through his hair. “Owen…”
“Yes?”
“Can I kiss you?”
Owen’s voice was choked, and low. “I can’t promise it’ll feel like old times.”
“It doesn’t need to. It just needs to be you,” Curt said, his fingers still busy in Owen’s long hair.
The man nodded then, and they both leaned in. It was gentle, and careful, and reserved. Curt found, very fast, that Owen was right. It didn’t feel like old times. It felt better.
They separated, though not by much, and Curt could feel Owen’s breath. They were both still intertwined, still holding on to each other as if nature required it. Despite the blindness of the dark, Curt felt like he could see Owen clearly, could see the man he’d always loved. The man he was in love with.
“I do love you, Curt. I never stopped, I think. Even when I wanted to hate you. That’s… that’s why I couldn’t. I love you, Curt. I want to make sure you know that,” Owen said quietly, and it was almost a ramble, but it was fine to him.
“Of course I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are.”
Owen moved forward again, and Curt met him in the middle, the two sharing another kiss, more confident this time. It was still gentle, still careful, but now they knew where they stood. The feeling of Owen’s lips on his was a sensation Curt had missed for years, and the memory of how he tasted had always haunted him. Having it all back… it made his heart pound, but for once it felt like it was alive again.
“We need sleep before we head back to America tomorrow,” Curt said, and he wanted nothing more than to keep kissing Owen, there, in the darkness, but reasonably he knew they had to get well-rested for their return. He knew that.
Owen nodded, and Curt could only vaguely see it. “You’re right. Yes. Well… goodnight, Curt.”
“Goodnight, Owen. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”