Chapter Text
Why did Owen have to be so damn good at his job? Curt was good too, of course he was, he was the best at what he did, but Owen was the best at what he did as well. That made everything so much more difficult. The man was too damn good at hiding, at disappearing without a trace, and just staying one step ahead of Curt. That said, Curt was incredibly skilled at following a trail and finding an in to any situation. They were evenly matched in this race. Yes, Owen was one step ahead, but that was just where Curt needed him to be.
What had made Owen become… this? This bitter, angry man he hardly recognized? Why hadn’t he gone back to MI6 when he could? Curt understood not letting him know he was alive, but seriously, not going back to MI6? Owen was loyal to his homeland, loyal to his organization, all spies were. The fact that he hadn’t gone to them was more concerning than anything. Something had to seriously change within Owen for him not to return to England.
Why hadn’t he just killed Curt? He understood the torture, sure, Owen blamed him for his near death, and for abandoning him there to die. But, why did he shoot Susan and not him? It would have saved him this chase. Tatiana would have chosen to go after the compound anyway, Susan couldn’t have followed him, Barb wouldn’t be useful either. He would have been free to continue his evil deeds. By the time Tati turned her attention back to him, he would have been long gone. With his ability with undercover work, she would never find him.
So this was deliberate, right? This had to be deliberate. Curt knew Owen, he knew that if he hadn’t wanted Curt to follow him, he would have shot him in the head back at that Prussian place. But… why? Why would he want him to follow? Why would he want to be tracked? If he wanted to distract him, again, he would have just killed him. It made no sense to shoot Susan and not him. It made no sense why Owen would want him to follow. This wasn’t just revenge, this was business, this was work. Owen never put emotion before work, except that one time in East Berlin back in ‘55.
Curt followed Owen into a Russian weapons Facility, he followed him up the stairs until their guns found each other’s head, and they froze. Curt looked closely at Owen, all of him, taking him in without lowering his weapon. Something about this wasn’t right. He knew that look in Owen’s eye, he’s seen it so many times before. The hurt was there, the pain and anger, but more than that, more than that-
“Time to take your final bow, Curt,” Owen said, breaking the silence.
“My team is destroying your island facility as we speak. Your surveillance network is fried. There will be no encore tonight, for you,” Curt replied, also using theater terminology. He remembered, Curt remembered that Owen grew up in the West End, he knew his parents were performers, both on the streets and on the stage. If he could just connect with him, if he could remind him-
Owen did pause at that, blinking a bit. Aha, Curt was right. Something was very wrong here. He knew that look in Owen’s eyes. “Perhaps you’ve destroyed that island facility, but what of the others?”
“There’s more?” Curt asked.
“How does it feel to know you’ll never catch up with us?”
Curt knew that damn look in Owen’s eyes. Something wasn’t right. He had to try, he had to reach out. He had to fix this. “It’s not too late to fix this. If you agree to give up Chimera, I’m sure the agency can pull some strings-”
“You still don’t see, do you Curt? There won’t be any agency to go back to once the system is global. I’m going to single handedly dismantle everything you’ve ever believed in,” Owen shouted. Curt didn’t like that, how Owen kept switching between saying ‘we’ and ‘I’ as if they were interchangeable, as if he was Chimera and Chimera was him. No. This wasn’t right. This was very, very wrong.
“You used to share those beliefs. Think of the missions we served. Lives we saved. The impact we had on this world. Together. Two of the greatest spies to ever live. You consider that, and you look me in the eyes and you tell me you don’t believe we’re making a difference,” Curt said. He had to try and snap him out of this, break him out of this before it got one of them killed. He knew that look, he knew it.
“The future is happening, Curt, and it’s not going to wait for you. What use would one man be when a box in a room can do his job in seconds?” Owen asked, almost sounding desperate, sad.
It wasn’t getting through. That wasn’t working. Curt needed a new tactic. “Sounds boring,” he said, trying fervently to think of something else, something to break Owen out of this.
“You’re a caveman, and I’ve invented fire,” Owen said. He sounded resigned, he sounded almost sad.
“I’ll stop you.”
“You’ll do your best,” Owen said, pausing. He seemed deep in thought as he reloaded his gun and aimed it once again at Curt’s head. “A new world awaits us, Curt. A world without agencies, a world without spies, a world without secrets.”
“Some secrets aren’t yours to share. What about our secret? The time we shared? The feelings we had. For each other. Are you ready to share that with the world?” Curt asked as he stepped closer so Owen’s gun would aim at his heart rather than his head. He had to remind him, he had to snap him out of this. This was going to get one of them killed if Curt didn’t snap him out of it.
“That secret died the night you left me for dead,” Owen said, adjusting his aim, his voice shaking ever so slightly. Good. Good. That was a step closer.
“Clearly,” Curt said, leaving himself wide open for Owen to shoot. He even went down another step and turned his back on him. Come on. Come on, O, break out of this, come on.
“Here’s some advice, Curt. It’s called moving on, do give it a try,” Owen said.
Damnit. He wasn’t snapping out of it. Curt suddenly spun around and shot the gun out of Owen’s hand, sending it flying. If he didn’t he knew Owen was going to shoot him. He hadn’t, yet, but he wasn’t waking up. If he wouldn’t wake up, he had to assure his own safety before proceeding to hopefully force the snap.
Owen actually looked nervous now, but that look was still there. This was still part of the plan, Curt realized. This was expected. “You know, killing me won’t take the system offline, so... what are you doing?” His voice shook ever so slightly. He was expecting this, he was still under, and he was scared.
“Not a damn thing,” Curt said, putting the safety back on his gun and putting it in the waist of his pants.
Got him.
Owen blinked hard, looking taken aback. The tremor in his hand, the quick blinking, the look of confusion in his eyes as the expected response hadn’t come. He was in too deep. That was the look, the look in his eyes that Owen got when he went too deep undercover for too long and got lost in the role, lost in the cover. It was never pretty when he was coming out, and unlike his usual missions, that were months long, this had been four years.
Four fucking years. Curt didn’t know if he even realized he’d gone into his undercover mode, for survival or mental protection, but Curt fucking knew the look in Owen’s eyes when he was in too deep and was lost in the part. He was shaking now, but Curt didn’t dare move yet. He didn’t want to scare him into running and grabbing the gun behind him in an attempt to regain stability in what was now shaking ground.
“You’re supposed to kill me now,” he whispered, lost and confused. His accent was back, not the posh British accent he pulled around other people, his real London accent he spoke when they were alone.
“Well I’m not gonna do that,” Curt said, holding up his hands to show he truly wasn’t about to do anything to harm him.
“But-but you’re supposed to kill me,” Owen said. There’s the stutter. Curt hated the confused and lost look in his eyes, but it was necessary.
The fact that it was over the fact that Curt was allegedly ‘supposed to kill him’ concerned Curt greatly. This wasn’t a normal ‘in too deep’. Chimera managed to get past Owen’s deep rooted survival instinct. He’d been scared, yes, but he’d both expected and prepared the die. The thing that threw him off of his groove and caused the ‘snap’ was the fact that Curt refused to kill him. Curt thought his hypothesis that this was a survival measure seemed even more likely now. How else would they have gotten that deep into Owen’s head?
“I’m not gonna kill you, O. I won’t,” Curt said softly, slowly trying to take a step up the stairs towards him.
Owen, unfortunately, did react sharply to the movement, stumbling backwards up the stairs and landing on his butt at the top, looking addled and terrified. Curt held up his hands again, showing he was unarmed and not about to do anything. He might have expected Curt to kill him, but now that he was ‘snapped’ he was in a state of flux where his brain was going to be trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He was in fight or flight mode. It didn’t matter that he’d expected and prepared to die, he was in fight or flight mode now because his brain was fucked up and disoriented.
“It’s okay, Owen, it’s okay. It’s me, it’s Curt,” Curt said in a soothing tone, slowly getting into a crouch so he seemed less threatening.
“You tried to kill me they said you wanted to kill me they said you wanted to let me die they said you betrayed me they said you wanted me to die,” Owen quickly rambled, eyes darting around as if expecting a threat from anywhere.
“Baby, I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. If I’d known you were alive I would have gone and rescued you, but-... I thought you died. They lied to you, O, they wanted to use you and got all that stuff in your head. I grieved for you the whole time we’ve been apart,” Curt soothed. Any real conversation about what happened could be saved for later, when Owen was in his right mind. Right now he just needed to calm him down so they could get out of there and back to the others.
Owen leaned forward and brought his shaking hands to the sides of his head as he tried to understand what was happening. “I-I, you- I’m supposed to die. You’re supposed to kill me,” Owen stated, returning to the last moment of stability he knew.
“But I’m not gonna, I’m not gonna kill you. You aren’t gonna die here tonight,” Curt said. “Can I come closer? Or are you gonna jump away again and fall down the stairs?”
When Owen was like this, it was like capturing a frantic, injured animal. Part of it was gaining trust and calming him down, but part of it was totally expecting him to be a dumbass on instinct and stumble down the stairs.
“You’re supposed to kill me,” he repeated in a whimper, clutching his head tighter now and squeezing his eyes tightly shut.
“I know, Baby, I know,” Curt said, daring to slowly pull himself up a step closer to Owen. “I’m gonna come a little closer now, is that alright?”
Owen wasn’t responding anymore, just sitting there with his eyes shut tight and shaking. That was a bad sign. Curt didn’t think he was going to be able to calm him enough to walk out of there. As Curt made another move forward, Owen flinched and scurried backwards again. He seemed to notice something, and before Curt could even swear, the gun he’d shot away was in Owen’s hand once more.
“I’m supposed to die. You’re supposed to kill me and I’m supposed to die,” Owen said frantically. He didn’t seem to know what to do now that he had the gun, his hand shaking as he stared at it.
“Honey, give that to me, okay? I’ll fix everything, just give me the gun,” Curt said, quickly getting up to the same floor as Owen. Bad. Very bad. Owen with no self preservation and a keen thought that he should be dying was very, very bad.
“I-I- I’m supposed to- I’m supposed to die,” he said, still staring at the gun in his shaking hand.
“I know, I know,” Curt said in his softest, most soothing voice. “It’s okay, Baby. I’m supposed to kill you, right? So I gotta have the gun, right?”
Owen stared at the gun as he processed that. It made no sense to Curt, no reasonable person would think like that, but Owen wasn’t okay right now, and he seemed to be genuinely questioning it. Finally, after a very tense moment, he held out the gun for Curt to take, seeming to be somewhat relieved that Curt was taking his role back. Curt took the gun and slammed it into Owen’s head. He caught Owen as he fell, lifting the far too light man into his arms as he fell unconscious.
“Tati, Barb, do you read me?” Curt said to his watch.
“Loud and clear, Curt, what is happening on your end?” Tati asked.
“I got Owen,” Curt said. “Not- I didn’t kill him.”
“... Okay… What do you mean you got him, then?” Tatiana asked.
“I mean he’s unconscious in my arms and I am going to get him to our current rendezvous point,” Curt said, adjusting his hold on Owen.
Tati paused, but Barb didn’t, asking, “Is it like before?”
Barb was the only person other than his mother who knew Owen had gotten too deep before. She was the only one he’d trusted at the agency to back him up when he needed time to help Owen out of his state. She’s also been the one he’d call to check him over physically, knowing more doctor shit than Curt did. Barb was a friend, someone Owen knew and trusted to a degree. She didn’t know they were an item, but she knew they were close.
“It’s like before but ten times worse multiplied by four years,” Curt explained as he began to search for a way out of the building.
“Jeepers. I’ll prepare the hotel room. You had to knock him out?” Barb asked.
“He was insisting that I was supposed to kill him, so yes, I had to knock him out,” Curt said.
“What do you mean, like before?” Tati asked. “I do not have the personal history here, you need to explain.”
“Owen was an agent specialized in undercover work. Undercover work puts a strain on your head, makes you get all mixed up about who you are. He’s gotten in too deep twice before, and a couple times not quite as bad. This is way worse than any of those. They fucked with him, I’m guessing torture, to get him to do what they wanted. He was undercover as himself. Himself. What kinda shit calls for a coping mechanism like that?” Curt explained.
“Shit, yeah, that is bad. I am almost done here, I will hopefully be back at the hotel in twelve hours, given flight times. He may trust me, from his work as the Deadliest Man. I might be of use,” Tatiana said.
“I’ll be there in nine, roughly,” Curt stated. “I’ll see you there.”
“Mega! There’s a compact in your left breast pocket that contains a sedative in the form of a dust. It should keep him out that long, if you reapply every three hours,” Barb said.
“You want me to do his makeup?” Curt asked as he found the exit and began to depart, looking for his vehicle.
“Powder his nose or deal with him awake and confused on your own for six hours, your choice,” Barb warned.
Curt rolled his eyes as he unlocked the car and then the back seat, getting Owen inside it before pulling out the compact. “Fine fine, but he’d better be extra pretty afterwards,” he joked. “How much do you put on? I don’t know makeup.”
“Hold your breath and tap the sponge gently on the side of the compact, then tap it on his nose twice. You don’t want too much on there or it’ll have some consequences,” Barb explained.
“Great, thanks. I’ll be driving if you need me,” Curt said as he hung up the call and did as Barb said. Owen, still unconscious, did not react to the powder in the least. That was fine. He’d probably check and make sure he was still breathing in a bit, but if he stayed asleep for a while it would probably be best. Owen didn’t look like he’d been sleeping much, and looked like he was in desperate need for a meal.
They’d get there. Barb was right, Curt didn’t want to try and contain Owen right now while in the middle of Red territory. If he woke up and ran off, it would end badly for both of them. He didn’t want to try feeding him anything until he was awake either, because that would be a mess in the car. His only option was to drive, and drive he did, only stopping for gas when he ran out. Nine hours was a long way to go in the silence, in enemy territory, with your boyfriend(?) knocked out in the back of your car. Getting back to West Berlin would be a relief, and he would get to konk out for a while. He could wait. Sleep could wait. Owen needed him, and he wasn’t going to fail him again.