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“Spies are forever.”
Curt closed his eyes as he waited for the impact of the bullet. For four years he had agonized over the thought that he had killed Owen, and now here Owen stood, about to kill him. It was almost poetic.
Bang.
Curt could feel the bullet enter his body, felt it explode through his chest, and he embraced the darkness as it quickly enveloped his consciousness. Finally, at long last, he could be free-
“You’re even stronger than your reputation suggests, Mr. Mega.”
What?
That was Owen’s voice.
Well, that was Owen doing a Russian accent.
It was what Owen had said to him the night in 1957, the night that he’d-
“Perhaps a more... serious method of extraction is in order, eh?”
Curt’s mouth moved before he could think, remembering exactly what he’d said- he’d certainly gone over the events enough times to have it engrained in his brain. “Do your worst- I’m like a Russian nesting doll. You may break me down, but there’s four more of me waiting inside. Pretty soon you’ll be left with just a tiny little version of me.”
Looking back, that hadn’t been the cleverest of quips, but he was too busy being distracted that Owen was here, and alive, and not evil and trying to kill him to care.
Owen gave him a confused look, and Curt just wanted to cry; it took every bit of training he had to not scream his name out right then. “I... do not understand what that means. But I do understand the sound of a man in pain.”
Owen got close to Curt’s face now, and Curt relished the feeling of his partner’s- god, he missed calling Owen that- breath against his skin. “Do you fancy nursery rhymes, Mr. Mega?”
Curt had honestly forgotten about Oleg- and about Oleg attempting to break his fingers- but he tuned the Russian out as he twisted his wrist back, mirroring his actions from so many years ago. He didn’t even bother making another quip this time- why waste the breath?
Owen asked him about the blueprints, and he spat at his feet. God, was he disassociating? He needed to get it together, especially if he was going to- oh, no, he still managed to hit Oleg with the baseball bat instead of the other way around. It looks like he’s still got it.
Curt waited anxiously for the reveal that it was Owen- when Owen asked where he got off, he replied with where their last three encounters had been- “bedroom, bathroom, maybe backseat of a limousine”- and he tried to keep himself looking calm and collected instead of like a ball of nerves.
And then Owen pulled that damned feather.
Curt had forgotten about that, too- he really thought he’d had the night memorized, but apparently parts of it had slipped through the cracks.
Owen quickly brushed the feather behind his ear, tickling him like he did that night- tickling him like he had so many nights before, that damned tease- and Curt had to clamp down from spilling the wrong information.
“Okay, okay, stop, please, please! I’m with the American Secret Service- we need pictures of the new weapons you’ve been developing so we don’t- please stop!”
Though he was laughing hysterically, tears were welling in his eyes; whether it be from the feather or from the emotion he was experiencing, he couldn’t tell.
Owen leaned in, and Curt could see the masked concern in his eyes, but he didn’t voice it, instead saying, “Not until you give me every last bit of information.” Still, Owen did pull away, stroking the feather, and Curt knew his reunion was coming.
“How could you possibly know I’m deathly ticklish behind my neck and ears?”
“Personal history does have its benefits, Mega.”
Two gunshots- he was shooting Oleg in the knees to take him out.
Curt swallowed. “Kill him.”
Curt could feel Owen’s eyes on him- curious, not judging, but wondering why the hell he had said that.
Curt just closed his eyes. “Just in case.”
“Since when were you one to be cautious, love?” Owen asked, amusement tinging his tone, but Curt could hear him comply anyway with a singular bang.
Curt felt the binds that were tying him to the chair fall, and he wanted to slump with relief before he remembered that the night wasn’t over yet. “The blueprints- we need to get the blueprints to Barb-”
Curt felt Owen pulling him to his feet, and he instinctively leaned into the touch. “Curt?” Owen’s voice was tinged with concern, and Curt knew why- he wasn’t exactly acting like himself.
Curt shook his head, closing his eyes to try and stave off a wave of dizziness. “I’m fine. We just- I-” He breathed in and took the blueprints out of his jacket. “Just let me photograph these with my watch- it’ll send it to Barb and we can get the Hell out of here-”
Owen’s eyebrows were practically in his hairline now. “Curt, this isn’t like you.”
The blueprints crumpled slightly in Curt’s grip. His voice broke, and he said quietly, “I just want to go home.”
Owen’s face softened, and he breathed, “Oh.” He held out his arm for Curt to take. “Well, let’s get going, love.”
Curt smiled for what felt like the first time in years as he tucked the blueprints back into his jacket and grabbed onto Owen’s forearm. “Let’s.”