Chapter Text
Agent Curt Mega had always had a steady hand.
In fact, there was no one in the A.S.S who had a steadier hand than him. When he missed a shot—and in all honesty, he did that quite often—it was always because the target moved, or he was sloppy in his aiming, or he got impatient. No, Curt’s hand never wavered.
Yet now, for the first time, the gun shook.
‘You still don’t see, do you, Curt!’
Owen’s voice was full of bitterness and hate, with no hint of friendliness. Despite himself, Curt remembered how he used to sound. A man of opposites, his Owen, haughty but humble, cocky but kind, and oh so loving.
‘There won’t be any agency to go back to once the system is global! I am going to single-handedly dismantle everything you’ve ever believed in.’
He might as well have shot Curt in the gut. It would have felt the same. Curt fought back the lump in his throat and the shake in his voice.
‘We used to share those beliefs.’
It came out softer and more pathetic than he wanted to. Owen cocked his head, almost like he pitied the man two steps below him on the stairs. Still Curt went on, his voice growing stronger.
'Think of the missions we served. The lives we saved. The impact we had on this world. Together.'
It did not go unnoticed that Owen's gun lowered ever so slightly at the last word. Maybe he would drop the mask, Curt thought hopefully. Not a literal mask, not anymore, but surely he had to be faking this? His Owen wouldn't mean this. Still the cold, hard shell stayed in front of Owen's eyes.
Curt, growing ever more desperate, put it on even thicker: 'We're two of the greatest spies to ever live. And you consider that, and you look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t believe we’re making a difference!'
His voice broke on the last word and he cursed inwardly. Half of his job was acting, but he'd never been able to hold it together in front of Owen. Being under Owen's scrutinizing gaze peeled away whatever strength there was in Curt. That had been the case four years ago and it still was now.
Curt's gun was lowered, forgotten. His breaths came out shaky and short and his pulse raced and raced and raced. Owen seemed oblivious to it. It was like he was looking right through Curt, looking at something much further away.
'The future is happening, Curt,' he said, his voice excruciatingly even, 'And it’s not going to wait for you. What use will one man be, when a box in a room can do his work in seconds, huh?'
Curt's breath hitched. He had to stop denying the reality of this situation. After all that happened, after seeing Owen as the Deadliest Man Alive, he surely should be able to see that there was no saving this. He couldn't be the hero in this story. But as always, he couldn't stop himself from trying again and again until he ruined himself in the process.
His voice was still shaking when he said: 'Sounds boring.'
Oh, how much Owen had hated that phrase and loved it all the same. Curt remembered how he used to scoff, albeit lovingly, whenever Curt called a mission boring, or a plan, or a person, or whatever else. Curt was a man of action and considered planning a waste of time. He'd been a handful for Owen.
Was Curt imagining the look of remembrance in Owen's eyes? Was he thinking of the same things Curt was? The fond memories they made as lovers?
But there was no emotion in Owen's voice when he said: 'You’re a caveman. And I’ve invented fire.'
Curt would have been hurt by the statement, but there was something else that caught his attention.
There was no emotion in Owen's voice. And that didn't check out. He didn't sound… proud, or arrogant. It was a small detail, but Curt was trained to zoom in on details. The way he said it sounded like he'd studied it.
Like he'd been told to say it.
'I’ll stop you,' Curt said, just to keep the conversation going.
As long as they were talking, he had time to think. Was this what Chimera wanted Owen to say? Did he truly believe it or was he an echo of the higher-ups, reading a script?
'You’ll do your best,' Owen said placidly.
Curt was sure of it now. There was a sense of dishonesty in his voice, something he didn't truly mean.
Owen went on: 'A new world awaits us, Curt. A world without agencies, a world without spies, a world without secrets.'
Whether it was scripted or not, that last bit was another punch in the gut for Curt. Why would he of all people want all secrets to be revealed? Was he not a man who had cupboards full of skeletons?
'Some secrets aren’t yours to share,' Curt said.
Owen swallowed. Curt was sure he was affected, at least inwardly, by Curt's words, so he threw caution out the window and spoke what had so far remained unspoken.
'What about our secret? The time we shared?'
He tried desperately to rid his voice of all the emotions following each other up one after the other. He did a terrible job, but perhaps it strengthened the message.
'The feelings we had? For each other? Are you ready to share that with the world?'
Owen's gun was lowered so far he was aiming it at Curt's heart. Poetic, really. Curt's heart had always been in Owen's hands.
'That secret died the night you left me for dead.'
Just like that he shattered what was left of Curt’s heart without even pulling the trigger.
'Here’s some advice, Curt,' Owen continued relentlessly, 'It’s called moving on. Do give it a try.'
The condescending tone in Owen's voice made anger flare up in Curt’s chest. Anger he knew he could—had to—use. If he didn't act now, he never would.
In one swift movement, faster than his doubt, Curt shot the gun out of Owen's hand.
Owen's face shifted to a look of surprise, but the even, somewhat condescending shell was back within a second.
Being disarmed and staring down the barrel of a gun did not temper Owen's confidence.
'You know killing me won’t take the system offline, so… What are you doing?'
And Curt knew what he should do. He knew he should pull the trigger and end this fucked up scene.
But that lack of emotion kept running through his mind. What if Owen was being manipulated or used? What if he wanted this just as little as Curt did? Curt couldn't go on living with that possibility open.
And if he was honest, which he was trying to be more these days, he couldn't do it anyway. He couldn't run a bullet through the face he still loved more than life.
He jumped forward and hit Owen's temple with the back of his gun. The other spy slumped and fell.
Curt left him behind. It was a horribly familiar feeling.