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They said he’d gone mad. Maybe they were right, maybe he was mad. There was no point to sanity if he didn’t have Owen.
Something in Curt had broken when he’d watched Owen fall. He’d done his best to save him, but his partner’s fingers had just slipped through his own, and the heat from the chargers had activated an instinct inside him that just sent him running. Not going back for him when he had the chance was his greatest regret.
Owen Michael Carvour was declared dead.
Curt refused to accept it. He hadn’t seen a body, so he scoured the world for the man. Cynthia had given up on Curt ages ago, but he didn’t care, all that mattered was Owen.
He was somewhere in the Russian countryside when he was taken. That was fine, he could get away. He always got away. Curt was ruthless now. People had begun calling him the Widower. He felt it fitting.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Agent Curt Mega, right here and in my possession. I thought I was gunna have to look for you, but you delivered yourself right to my doorstep.”
Curt blinked his eyes open. He was tied to a chair, his hands behind his back. The man’s accent was Welsh. Owen would’ve mocked it. Owen.
“Nothing to say for yourself, eh, love? There were plenty’a rumors bout that pretty little mouth’a yours.”
Curt didn’t respond. He was too busy taking in the man in front of him, trying to figure out his weaknesses. The best ways to kill him.
Something about him was familiar, though. Achingly so. Curt was drawn to him in a way he hadn’t been to anyone since-
A knife was against Curt’s cheek, and he blinked. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here, and I’ll consider making this short?”
“I’m looking for my partner,” He said honestly. Curt found that honesty was the best policy when he was being held hostage nowadays. It threw his captors off their guard, and if there was even a chance they knew something about Owen-
The knife dig deeper into his skin. “Your partner?” The voice growled, angry.
“Owen. His name was Owen,” Curt babbled, unable to stop speaking. “There was an explosion- my fault, it was my fault- he fell- I tried to save him- my fault- Owen, Owen- need to find Owen-”
The man who had him was giving him a strange look, and before he knew it, Curt was being bashed over the head with the butt of the knife.
——————————————
Curt woke up in a bed.
Strange, Curt couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept in a bed. A bed was a luxury he wouldn’t afford himself until he found Owen.
Owen.
At the thought of his partner Curt felt a surge of energy ripple through him, and his eyes flew open as he tried to summon all his strength to get up.
“Curt! Christ, love, stay down-”
Curt paused as his mind registered Owen’s voice. Owen.
As the world came into focus, Curt’s eyes fell on Owen, who looked exactly as he remembered him. Exactly as perfect.
“Owen,” Curt said reverently, taking in every inch of Owen’s face- though he ignored the man’s worried expression, for now.
Owen was sitting by his bedside, and Curt could feel the Brit’s hand gripping his. “Curt,” He said in exasperation, relief ringing his tone.
“Owen,” Curt repeated. “I knew you were alive.”
Owen pressed his lips together, and Curt kept babbling on. “I knew- they didn’t listen to me- I tried to go back-”
“You tried to go back?” Owen asked softly, his thumb gently rubbing over Curt’s knuckles.
Curt looked at Owen as if he had said something ridiculous. “Of course I tried to go back.”
The story of why he didn’t go back flew from his lips before he could stop himself. How the explosion put him into a coma, and how by the time he awoke, the facility had already been completely bulldozed.
The ink hadn’t even begun to dry on Curt’s release papers before he’d gone back out looking.
At the end of the story, Owen had withdrawn into himself, looking pale.
“Curt,” He said softly, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea you were looking for me-”
Curt squeezed Owen’s hand, tightly, and made the Brit look at him. “Why are you apologizing? You’re alive. That’s all I could ever ask for.”
“You aren’t mad at me?” Owen asked, lifting Curt’s hand to his lips and pressing half a dozen kisses to his skin. “For doubting you?”
Curt ran his thumb over Owen’s bottom lip gently. “Owen,” He said softly. “I love you. Nothing could ever change that.”