Chapter Text
“Carvour!” Captain Mega called from the top deck, catching Owen’s attention as the rest of the crew settled in for the night, all shuffling pushing their ways down to below to ship. It was dark, the only sound was the humming of the haunting waves against the boat. He went up to Mega and straightened his back, unsure if this was going to be a “here are your orders” conversation or a “I’m bored and want to talk to you” conversation.
There was silence for a moment, a painful silence, before the captain finally spoke. “Owen,” Mega smiled, as Owen naturally loosened his body. It was going to be the latter, it seemed.
“Curt,” Owen responded, putting a hand in the pocket of his coat, “You need something?”
“Just wanted to chat, is all,” Curt backed up against the railing, taking his hat off and throwing it across the deck, as it landed nearly perfectly on the wheel of the ship.
Owen nodded and approached him, “I figured, you’ve loosened up on giving me silly orders.” He leaned against the same railing as Curt, gently hitting his shoulder.
“Hey, washing the deck for the seventh time isn’t silly at all, Carvour,” Curt gently pushed him. Owen pushed back a little harder, leaning his shoulder against Curt’s.
“It’s very silly, Captain Mega,” he grumbled, “And it killed my arm, I swear it was sore for a week.”
“I’m teaching you to never give up, just like a captain should.”
“Bullshit,” Owen rolled his eyes. He felt Curt grab the ends of his jacket and pull him closer and took Owen’s weapon out from his belt. Owen glanced at him, with slight intrigue and confusion.
Curt held up a knife that Owen had received, looking at it with a curious gleam in his eyes that shone in the moonlight. He put it up to the light of the moon, watching it reflect back onto the metal as he studied it. “Where’d you get this?”
“Oh, Barb got it from-”
“Boring,” Curt cut him off, giving him back the knife, suddenly done with the object he found so curious.
“Well you fucking asked,” Owen put it back into his belt, “I think it’s neat, Barb’s collection. I don’t know why you’re so pissy about her.”
“I’m not pissy!” Curt rolled his eyes again, “She’s just… well she’s Barb. She’s annoying.”
“You’re annoying,” Owen nudged him, turning his head out towards the water, “Say, why don’t you ever use your own blade? It was a gift, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it was Cynthia’s before she retired-”
Owen corrected him, “Before she left because of your bullshit.”
“Retired.” Curt said sternly, a tinge of annoyance resting on his tongue as he clicked it before continuing, “I don’t know how to sword fight really, and guns are just more efficient.”
Owen crossed his arms, “I’m surprised, I would’ve thought you’d love the risk in it. Or at least doing it for fun.”
Curt shrugged, “That seems more of your field, you’re precise and have good form.”
“You’d have better form if you practiced,” Owen told him, giving him his “no it all” tone, as Curt referred to it as. He took Curt’s hand and led him away from the railing, before taking out his sword, readying himself to spar, “Sometimes you don’t have a gun on you, y’know?”
Curt laughed, “No, I always do.”
Owen gave him a look and walked back over to him, taking his gun out of its holder on Curt’s belt and throwing it to the side, “Not anymore.” Curt took out another two guns, throwing them to the side, “Of course you’d have 3 damn guns on you.”
“I have one more.”
Owen put his hand to his forehead, rubbing it in slight annoyance, wondering how his captain could be such a pain in the ass, “Jesus Christ, Curt where would you even put a fourth gun?”
“That’s my secret,” he chuckled, taking his sword out, “Are we doing this or not?”
Owen rolled his eyes and readied himself once more, “Alright.”
In an instant Curt carelessly hit Owen’s sword, before they both swung it down simultaneously, the clashing of the metal sending a loud noise throughout the ship. Curt tried to move closer to Owen but lost his balance and stumbled. Owen helped him up and consoled him on his form, trying his best to change Curt’s many problems with his swordsman ability, before they began round 2.
After much time, and much frustration on the side of Curt, he finally gave up, as Owen held the tip of the blade towards his chest.
“How the hell are you so good at this?” Curt laughed and caught his breath as Owen backed him into the railing, grabbing onto it and watching Owen pick up his sword and hand it back to him. Curt gently placed it back in its holder, letting out a long sigh of relief.
“Been doing it for years, Mega. It’s all just practice, I certainly didn’t start out good.”
“Maybe you’re just average and I just suck,” Curt chuckled, Owen putting his sword back into his scabbard as he reached his hand out to Curt, who took it and got off the railing to regain balance.
“You’re fine, you just need practice. Maybe stop chasing me so much and hold back, be more defensive.” Owen advised him, although he knew that Curt wasn’t going to listen to any of the advice he could give him, just like he hadn’t changed his form the entirety of their sparring matches.
“Whatever.”
Owen rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh of frustration, “You know, you really can just be the worst sometimes.”
“I could say the same about you, prick.”
“Coward,” Owen chuckled.
Curt glared at Owen and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pushing himself against Owen in annoyance and aggression. Curt breathed heavy, his piercing glare sending shivers through Owen’s bones, “I’m a lot of things, Carvour,” he gripped him tighter, putting his leg between Owen’s two legs, “But a coward isn’t one of them. I have defeated so many foes, brought down so many goddamn ships to where I’ll happily destroy in an instant if you mutter that towards me again.”
Owen nodded his head, “Yes, Captain.” Curt was never one to get angry. He’d get annoyed certainly, frustrated or pissy, but never truly angry. This was anger, this was blood boiling rage that Owen craved to see more of. His glares of anger were almost addictive to him, for one reason or another.
Curt lost his glare and started to walk away from Owen, “You want a drink?” he asked, grabbing his hat and turning his head back to Owen as he went down to the main deck.
Owen wiped his face, “Why the hell not?” Owen grinned back at him, as they entered Curt’s cabin.
The walls were filled with maps with big red x’s on them, maps Barb had worked on with Cynthia when she was still working with them. Curt had inherited them, although Owen knew he never actually looked at them for any reason other than to know which port they were close to whenever he needed more beer for the ship. Owen thought it a shame to see all that craftsmanship go to waste, but he had mostly given up on Curt ever giving a damn about Barb.
Curt grabbed two bottles of beer and placed his hat down on the desk. Owen reached to grab one of them before Curt swiped it away, “Hey what do you think you’re doing?” he smiled playfully.
Owen looked at him strangely, “Taking the drink you offered me?” he told him.
Curt began to laugh, leaning over the table as he giggled like a maniac, “Oh, Owen. You know you need to get one yourself.”
Owen sighed as he got up to grab himself a bottle of beer, trying to find one that wasn’t emptied by Curt already. His hand traced over the bottles, every so often he’d pick one up to see if he had found a full one or not.
Owen soon gave up on trying to find a drink. He figured Curt took the last filled bottles. He sat back down in front of Curt and stole the bottle from his hand, “Hey!” Curt tried to grab it back, but by the time he reached the bottle Owen had emptied it by himself.
“You have one already, and you’re already out. It’s only been 2 weeks, Curt! Drinking that much will kill you.”
Curt grabbed the now empty bottle out of Owen’s hand, trying to get even a drop of alcohol out of it. “Don’t be silly, Carvour,” he laughed, getting small drips from the mostly empty bottle, “You can’t die from too much alcohol.” He put the bottle back down on his desk and put his feet up, leaning back in his chair, “Where do you think we should go next?”
Owen glanced at him, watching Curt uncap the second bottle of beer, “Why are you asking me?” he questioned the captain.
Curt stopped drinking and wiped his mouth, “Should I not be asking you?”
“Answer my question first.”
“I answered your question with a question, it’s completely fair.”
Owen rubbed his eyes, too tired to fight against Curt’s stupid logic, “You can ask me whatever you want, that doesn’t mean I’ll have an answer.”
“You’re so indecisive,” Curt put his feet down and changed his position on the chair, now sitting on one of its arms. He grabbed the second bottle and downed it, throwing it to Owen who barely caught it, “You know, you and I should do something together. Just the two of us for a while. Break away from all the extras and go on our own little mission.”
Owen couldn’t contain a slight chuckle, playing with the empty bottle in his hands, “Whatever you say, Captain Mega.”
Curt turned his head to face Owen’s, a warm smile creeping onto his face, “I mean it, Owen,” there was a strange silence for a moment, the dim candlelight flickering as the ship gently swayed. Curt cleared his throat, “You don’t need to look at me like I have five heads, y’know?”
“I’m not looking at you at all, what do you mean?” Owen lied, because where else would he be looking if he wasn’t looking at Curt? He forced out a laugh, “Wow, you’re a pain.”
“What the hell am I doing that’s making me a pain now?” Curt rolled his eyes, putting his hand on his cheek and looking towards Owen curiously. It was a strange look, it was a genuine stare of intrigue. Maybe it was the candlelight affecting Owen’s vision.
“Well to start you’re an absolutely incompetent captain, you don’t know how to use your own damn sword, you’ve only recently learned how to actually read maps,” Owen stopped himself before he dug too deep into Curt’s ego, “However, even I must admit you’re a great leader. You’re commanding and people want to listen to you, for whatever reason. You’re like… a beacon of hope sometimes.”
Curt smiled at the last part, “Thanks, Owen.”
Owen leaned back in his chair, “No need to thank me, just sharing my thoughts.”
Despite the fact Owen hadn’t seemed to give a damn about giving Curt a compliment, he couldn’t help but smile at the mere idea of him thinking slightly highly of him, “You would’ve been a better captain.”
“Are you just realizing this or is this supposed to be a big ‘woah, I would’ve been’ moment?” Owen asked him, Curt groaning and putting his hands in his face.
“I was just giving you a compliment back, Carvour! Why are you such a stick in the mud?” Curt grumbled into his palms, before taking a long breath and sitting back down normally in his chair.
Owen laughed, “You’re going to have to speak clearer than that, Mega.”
Curt nearly slapped him, he was fully prepared to. He couldn’t bring himself to let his hand slide across Owen’s face though, he’d feel almost guilty about it if he did. Instead, he just grumbled once again to himself, “You’ll be the death of me.”
“No, you’ll be the death of me if you keep mumbling like this.”
“You’ll be the death of me if you keep making fun of me like this,” Curt leaned over the table again, putting his hands on it and staring at Owen, a smug smile growing on his face.
“You’ll be the death of me if you keep acting like a child,” Owen left his chair as well, moving his face closer to Curt's as he playfully smirked.
Curt leaned closer to Owen, his breaths hot on Owen’s cheeks, “You’ll be the death of me if you keep acting like you’re so high and mighty when I’m the captain here.”
“You’ll be the death of me if you don’t stop acting like your title makes you superior to everyone else here. I know your ego is a giant brick wall but sometimes other people are simply better at you than things and maybe they enjoy watching you squirm. It’s truly adorable,” Owen smirked as he spotted, a smirk that really did show he wasn’t holding back. A smirk that in the light of the candle looked so elegant, irresistible to the human eye.
“You’re lucky I don’t shoot you right now,” Curt told him, his glare so sharp it could cut through metal.
“Are you going to use that secret fourth gun of yours?” Owen couldn’t help but laugh at his own joke, losing that priceless smirk of his.
Curt didn’t respond, and Owen could almost see he was slightly red in the face, Curt’s annoyed frown turning into a small, held back, smile. Owen assumed it was the candlelight again. Curt never smiled that way, certainly not at him.
There was silence again, only the light shuffling of papers under their hands as they gently twitched with slight discomfort. Curt lost his eye contact with Owen and looked down at the maps under his and Owen’s hands. A sigh escaped from his mouth, “Damn you, Carvour.”
Owen touched Curt’s chin, smiling, “I win,” he told him, before pushing Curt back into his chair, backing away from him and grinning. He took Curt’s hat and placed it on his own head. “Good night, Captain.”
Curt watched as Owen closed the door, taking his hat with him. Curt touched his jaw and felt his breathing slow. Suddenly, he felt something click in his brain, making his eyes grow wide, almost ashamed of himself. Ashamed of letting his guard down, of letting himself be talked down to, and of not minding it at all.
“Shit.”