Chapter Text
London, England - 4 C.E.
There are some moments in life that are thought about forever. Life changing experiences that, while being lived, are unable to be recognized as such. But they are just that: life changing. And the brain fails to contemplate a time before such an experience. Such a cathartic moment. Or perhaps, a repressive moment.
Because of course, there is no consistency in whether the moment will be good or bad. Transformative sure, but what if for all the wrong reasons? Curt wasn’t sure which this was yet. But three years after meeting Owen, Curt only thought about life in two segments.
Like a secular historical timeline, Curt thought of life after Owen Carvour as C.E.
His Common Era was the Carvour Era.
Before they met? This period of time is B.O.C.
Before Owen Carvour.
Life changing? No doubt in his mind. Good or bad? That was something Curt had yet to decide. And so as he sat next to Owen in a shady looking pub, waiting for a call from Barb… he allowed himself to reminisce, to travel back in time.
Khimki, Russia - 1 C.E.
The real date was May 27th, 1953. Curt Mega, a highly praised agent for the American Secret Service (by everyone but Cynthia that is), was reading over the mission briefing for what felt like the millionth time. It only felt this way because Curt had never bothered to do it more than once or twice; but this time was different.
The man he was ordered to work with was not one of his partners from his own agency, but the top agent at MI6. One by the name of Owen Carvour. This news was not unbelievable to Curt- and not just because he had read it for the sixth time since he received it that day. He knew the allied forces of America and Great Britain would have to start working together in Cold War espionage efforts if they were ever to fully trust each other.
The problem was that word and the entire concept of it. Trust.
It was not one Curt was fond of. To be fair, Curt’s entire existence was a secret. One he had never trusted anyone with.
Curt had never come out before. He never thought it necessary. Even with his flings, all that was required was an unspoken understanding. And contrary to what the government believed, it never affected the way Curt did his job. So he left it alone. He was gay, but this title was an irrelevant part of himself.
Besides, what good could it possibly do to say the words out loud?
To another person?
To himself?
That he didn’t know. But the amount of irreparable damage it could do… that’s a list that he knew by heart. And with the proper dedication, and a pen that could preferably shoot acid into the faces of anyone who asked to read it, he could fill pages and pages writing it out.
So long story short: No. Curt had never trusted anyone. Why would he start now? He closed the mission briefing for the final time in mild disgust. He shredded it before leaving his hotel room.
When he got into his car, he scanned over the map quickly, barely processing the root after the first few instructions and taking off.
He was still mildly offended that not only did his own agency feel the need to keep him in check, but now felt the need to do so through international means. And ironically, Curt was too stubborn to notice how his rash driving decision was a perfect example of why he needed a “partner”: poor impulse control.
Curt Mega had a distaste for patience and observation. He valued efficiency, strength, and quick wit over the things that he probably needed most to keep him alive; this is why he needed Owen. He just didn’t know it yet. (And in a few years the very idea would be inconceivable.)
After a few minutes of waiting around, Curt saw a man who looked very much like the description of Owen Carvour exit Terminal D. Curt waited a moment, watching as Owen’s eye scanned the area briefly before landing on Curt. Curt knew he must have had his own realization because it was not too long before the taller man made his way to Curt, extending a polite smile, almost a smirk.
Curt took in the man’s appearance up close. He had light facial hair, but he was well groomed. Curt didn’t see it often for field agents but Owen’s dark brown hair was quite long, stopping just at the top of his neck. Curt thought it was almost sloppy of him to have hair that long. What if it got in his face on the job? Though he’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge that the length looked good on him. Besides, it was slicked back and none of it covered his eyes. The last thing Curt noticed was his intense stare as he stood there. Waiting. Still smirking… still challenging.
Curt was the first to speak. He put on a fake smile, pretending Owen was an old friend, and uttered the code in Russian.
“Feels like years since we’ve last reunited,”
“Glad the feeling is not unrequited,” Owen responded. It was a code that only rhymed in English as a further precautionary measure against any suspicious native listeners. Curt nodded, which showed Owen that he had successfully proven his identity.
Curt voluntarily took Owen’s luggage back to his car for him and threw it in the back before joining him up front in the driver’s seat. Curt turned the car on, allowing it to warm up.
“Thanks for carrying my luggage, love,” Owen said in his regular english accent, “The name’s Owen Carvour. I’m certain you knew that already but a proper introduction seemed fair.”
“What’s with the accent?” was all Curt thought to respond with and he kicked himself for allowing this to be his first introduction to the man who seemed so effortlessly charming.
“I’m… English?”
“No, I- the Russian one. It’s not very good. They teach you that at MI6?” Curt responded, letting his defensiveness and judgement get the better of him. Owen scoffed.
“Hm. It’s true what they say about the A.S.S., they do produce some real assholes,” Owen responded.
“You’re original,'' Curt said, never making eye contact with Owen. Instead, he put his arm around the passenger’s seat to look behind him as he backed out and away from the airport.
“Sick burn,” Owen responded sarcastically. “You know what’s interesting is that I have actually heard a lot about you on the field.”
“Thank you-”
“About your rash decision making, your ignorance, lack of thought, and such. Good to know that that also applies to whatever comes out of your mouth…” Curt didn’t have a response and so Owen kept talking. Curt had never had someone stand up to him in this way before, at least not one of his partners. “You know, I’m pretty convinced your success is the result of pure luck.” Owen turned to his left and squinted his eyes, knowing he just got the leg up on him.
“Well I’m so flattered that you’ve memorized all my baseball cards, little girl- but I’m starting to feel sorry. I haven’t heard squat about you before today,” Curt fired back, but Owen dodged in record speed.
“Oh, don’t apologize for not noticing me. I’m a spy. That’s kind of the job.” Owen’s remark lingered in the car. All Curt could do was drop his jaw, slowly turning to look at the man to his right, who currently held a winner's smile on his face. Incredible. They made eye contact for a brief moment before bursting into laughter. There was still tension but it eased slightly.
“Alright, alright. You got me,” Curt’s voice surrendered in tone, becoming friendlier. And he decided to go back to Owen’s initial, more civil level, “Mega. The name’s Curt Mega.”
“Oh darling, I know.”
Hours later, Agent Mega was dragging the body of a lifeless Soviet Union guard into a supply closet.
Curt had entered the building with… less than grace, catching the attention of a nearby guard. He watched as Owen quickly defended him, shooting the man in his blind spot. He was impressed; and as strange as it seemed, the death of the man brought an ease to his nerves.
No, it wasn't trust, but it was damn close enough. He had more confidence in Owen now, he felt that they were a part of the same team. So as part of the team, Curt currently worked to hide Owen’s kill.
“Wait a minute,” Owen whispered before Curt shut the door. “Take off his clothes.”
“Come again?” Curt asked.
“Relax. We’re not talking about trousers. Just take the coat and hat, it could be used as a disguise if need be,” Owen replied and Curt did as he said. He handed a pin on the jacket to Owen before doing so in order to eliminate any loud jingling noises. When he was done he shoved the guard back in the closet for good, closing the door.
“Hm. Looks like he had a CCCP star pin on his lapel,” Owen said, trying to see it better in the dark hall. But before he could, Curt took it from him and pinned it back on the jacket which he was now wearing.
“Are you taking the piss?” Owen asked.
“How do you mean?” Curt asked while taking out a badge from the breast pocket, trying to get the name of the man who once wore the clothes.
“Why do you get all his possessions? It was my idea.”
“You’ll know if we get there,” Curt responded, before putting the badge away, and moving out. They passed empty concrete walls, lined with nothing but a few windows they could barely see out of. Owen followed Curt’s lead for a while until he heard voices, at which point he held out an arm.
“Wait,” he mouthed, and Curt got behind him, his back against the wall as Owen peaked his head around the corner. “There’s a meeting in progress,” he whispered.
“Do we check the other floors?” Curt asked. He assumed if they didn’t find the plans for a nuclear war weapon in this office, they’d need to check elsewhere anyways. But Owen shook his head.
“That’s not part of the plan-”
“And?”
“We don’t know what’s up there, it could get us killed. And it wouldn’t do anyone any good to-”
“Yeah well I think the plan has just re-written itself-”
“If you don’t shut the fuck-”
“IS ANYBODY THERE?!” A voice called out in Russian. Curt and Owen said nothing, instead they made a run for it.
“Curt Mega, I resent you.” Owen managed to push these words out as he sprinted. His breath was heavy and Curt could hear him hold it when he turned around to fire his weapon.
But there were simply too many guards and officials for them to fight them off and so they kept running. That was until Curt got an idea. He took a moment to look behind him one last time, making sure this was the right decision.
“You’re gonna resent me even more,” he warned.
“Not possible,” Owen responded.
“...Stop running.”
“Okay. It’s possible.” They rounded a corner, and entered a (thankfully) empty room. Owen locked the door. They had lost the guards, but knew it was only a temporary victory.
“Do you trust me?” Curt asked and Owen looked at him like he just asked if the Earth was flat.
“Are you stupid?”
“Yeah. That was a fat chance. But listen to me, I got this,” he said, putting an arm on Owen’s shoulder.
Owen almost protested but when he heard the guards begin to bang on the door, he knew there was simply no time. He complied.
1… 2… 3… BAM! The door flew open and the guards were met with the sight of Curt, standing behind Owen, gun pointed at his head. Owen’s hands were being pinned behind his back with Curt’s free hand.
“Don’t worry, I got this one.” Curt said in Russian.
One of the guards gave him a suspicious eyebrow raise, before also responding in his native language, “Who are you?” His voice was deep and unwavering.
“Gennady Volkov.”
“Can you prove it? Where is your badge? Identification?” he asked.
“In my pocket but my hands are obviously a little occupied , gentlemen. Now if we can direct our interrogation at the real criminal-”
“Criminal? I can explain! I have nothing to hide,” Owen interrupted, pretending to struggle under Curt’s grasp in order to pull some of the focus away from him.
“Shut up! See? Listen to his terrible accent. He’s a liar. We have to figure out who sent him,” Curt added. He noticed Owen blink hard in order to resist an eye roll. So that’s why Curt insisted he wear the disguise.
The guards paused for a moment, studying the two men in the middle of the room in absolute silence. The tension was building exponentially and the air grew thick as Curt started to doubt himself.
Then finally the same guard spoke again, “Yeah that accent’s pretty shit. Let’s go.” Curt couldn't help but smile up at Owen. ‘I told you so’ written all over his face.
They all followed the man who seemed to be the top guard back into the office they had originally been instructed to go to. Curt presented Owen to the owner of said office: Georgi Malenkov, Premier of the Soviet Union.
Curt was formal. He introduced himself using his badge as identification. He moved quickly so as not to give them time to pick apart his resemblance to the man in the photo. Then he explained his encounter and eventual capture of Owen.
“...so if you don’t mind, Sir-”
“Say no more. You and uh… ” he struggled to remember even one name, it was no wonder he believed Curt to be who he said he was, “Alexei can have the room. Meanwhile, I must explain to my fellow delegates that we have the situation under control. Perhaps a rescheduling is in order,” Malenkov suggested before opening the door and signaling for the other guards to leave with him.
Each one of them, except Alexei, did and Curt scanned his surroundings. Alexei noticed what he was looking for and went to get the rope himself. Curt sat Owen down in a chair. They gave each other a brief ‘we’re out of our minds’ look before Alexei came back and started working on tying up Owen’s hands.
“Why don’t you take the first few Alexei, I’ll look for a weapon.” ‘ A weapon plan ’ Curt thought to himself before moving towards the back of the room where he saw Alexei acquire the rope. On the shelves were pliers , guns, a hammer, drill, and more. But what caught Curt’s eyes was a manila envelope on top of a series of filing cabinets. Malenkov must not have gotten the chance to put it away. Curt imagined what else could be in the cabinets.
Curt’s attention was brought back to Owen when he heard a loud thud. He worried something may have happened to his partner but instead he saw Alexei getting up from the ground. The keys hanging from the belt loop of his pants clinked together as he got back up. Bingo.
“What happened?” Curt asked in Russian, walking back towards them with a new gun pointed at Owen, feigning concern.
“I got down on his level and he kicked me down,” Alexei grunted.
“Well you didn’t secure his feet to the chair, what did you expect?” Curt asked in English before switching targets and shooting the man in his knee caps.
“You did an awful job on that knot by the way,” Owen added, also in English. It was as if this conversation was really just for them to have fun with.
“And all that for a little kick?” Curt asked.
“Oh, he forgot the part where I spat in his face,” Owen smiled. Curt liked Owen’s smile.
“What the fuck is happening?” The man asked in Russian, not understanding a word they were saying.
“Oh you don’t need to know,” Curt answered in Russian once again.
“Because if you did,” Owen started, in Russian as well.
“We’d have to do a whole lot more than break your knee caps,” Curt finished Owen’s sentence and snatched the keys from Alexei’s waist.
“So really we’re doing you… how you say,” Owen turned to Curt for the Russian word.
“A favor.”
“You’re welcome.” Owen said in Russian once more before knocking the man out with the backside of his gun.
Owen was driving this time. He made sure to take long and winding back roads in case anyone had managed to get on their tail. Curt would do this too after a mission, but Owen spent a longer time than he ever had doing it. He was being thorough.
They had left with multiple corresponding documents discussing nuclear war plans. Owen was driving to their next stop where they would make the hand-off.
Curt chuckled to himself thinking back on all that they had just accomplished. And he thought about the way he and Owen worked together as a team- how they fooled the Russian guards, were able to poke fun at each other, and bounced off of one another during their confrontation with Alexei. Curt had never had that type of immediate chemistry before. He turned to the driver’s seat to see Owen wearing his own face of satisfaction.
Eyes on the road. Bold and daring eyes. Focused eyes. Pretty eyes?
“You know we work pretty well together,” Curt said before taking a pause.
“Thank you. For trusting me back there. I know it wasn’t the easiest thing to do with everything I had done prior,” Curt said as he shrunk in his seat.
“Yeah, well. When it comes to who you trust, perhaps it’s just a gut feeling,” he smiled at the man beside him before adding, “Certainly was for Alexei. He may have a bruised rib.” Curt laughed in response.
“And thank you . For a second I questioned whether or not you would leave me to the dogs,” Owen said. Curt looked at him like the idea was ridiculous. “But I should have known you were better than that. You lack… islands of patience, don’t get me wrong, but you do have integrity. And more skill than can be credited to ‘pure luck’ as I may have put it earlier,” Owen said before clearing his throat.
“Wow. I can’t believe I got you to admit it. If things keep going my way, this may be the start of a great partnership,” Curt said teasingly.
“Hm. We’ll see, old boy.”
“Oh. But if this is going to continue you have to let me work on that Russian accent of yours,” Curt said seriously. And Owen chuckled in defeat.
“I’d trust you with that too.”
Trust. Curt was finally starting to get the hang of it.
When the early hours of the morning hit and the two men had finally gone their separate ways, Curt thought about how he and Owen complimented each other. And then he thought about how they literally complimented each other. It made him smile.
And although it, his slowly growing adoration for Owen, had been sprinkled all throughout the night, Curt didn’t know what he was feeling.
All he knew was that for the first time in his life, he was asking himself:
What time you coming out?