Work Text:
“sorry, ma— oh, jesus, curt?”
curt almost fell on his ass as he looked at the guy he’d just bumped into and saw the face of his long-dead boyfriend. he stared unblinkingly, trying to preserve the hallucination or fantasy, when owen grabbed his shirt and shoved him into an alley to stop disrupting the flow of people on the sidewalk.
“owen?”
“fancy seeing you here,” owen said, as if he wasn’t in curt’s city, walking nearby his flat.
“i’m not dreaming, am i? i don’t do that anymore, dream about you.” he was talking to himself. “can you pinch me?”
owen smiled and did so.
“ow!”
“you just told me—“
curt hugged him, tight. owen managed an awkward laugh and wrapped his arms around him gently, as if afraid to touch him, like he was poisonous.
“are you alright?”
“i thought you were dead,” curt was sobbing, now. owen’s thoughts snapped to the tears and snot that would be soaking into his jacket, and he was momentarily distracted with how he should clean it. “owen, baby—“
owen almost winced slightly at the pet name, but was still offering a polite sort of half-smile. “don’t call me that.”
“what? please, owen,” curt pulled away spluttering, sounding absolutely pathetic, “i thought you were dead!”
owen looked at him. “why the hell would you think that?”
“what the fuck do you mean? everyone thought you were dead! we thought the russians had you or something, cynthia told me she heard you were pronounced dead two years ago!”
“and you didn’t think to check?” owen was looking at him with genuine confusion, “you didn’t call me, not once?”
“i thought you were dead!”
“or my sister? to offer condolences?”
“i didn’t know her number! why are we arguing? you’re alive, i can’t believe—“
“please stop saying it like it’s so surprising, it’s bizarre. i’m going to lunch in half an hour, you’re going to put me off.”
“what happened?”
“exactly what you think happened, idiot,” owen was still smiling at him. curt wanted to kiss him so badly it seemed worth the criminal charges to do it right here, right now. “just, you know, without the dying.”
owen had just called him an idiot, endearingly. he was being friendly. he wasn’t hurting him. he didn’t hate him. holy shit.
“what?”
“stop saying that.” owen joked (he was joking!). “the russians got me, i didn’t tell anyone anything because i’m fantastic, then a rescue mission picked me up and i was sort of put off spying, for obvious reasons, so i left.”
“you just… left?”
“what, you think they wouldn’t let me? they probably would’ve knighted me if i’d asked politely enough, curt, of course they’d let me leave. i’m still in touch with the director and quite a few old agents if they need me, but, seemingly, they don’t.”
there was silence. owen could almost hear the cogs turning in curt’s head as he worked the situation through mentally.
“you’re not happy.” curt blurted out. his gaze hadn’t faltered from owen’s eyes, soul, for a few minutes now.
“curt,” owen blinked at him. he didn’t even laugh. “what are you talking about?”
“i can see that you’re not happy, owen.”
now he laughed. “how can you see that?”
“what? because i know you!”
“do you? it’s been two years, curt. i’m happy. i’ve met people, i have a new partner.”
“what? really? you… you do?”
“of course i do! don’t you? you were fun, and i did love you back then, i really did, but you fucked me over.” owen was speaking almost fondly. curt wanted to scream. “i couldn't love you even if i tried.”
curt was searching for something, anything, to say. he didn’t find it.
“i know you want me to want you, or us, or whatever you’d call it,” owen said, “but i moved on. what’s the point in spending your whole life sobbing into bottles of god-knows-what rather than just getting on with it, hm?”
“oh, yeah, totally,” curt said, as if that wasn’t an insulting accurate description of what he’d been doing the past two years. he couldn’t believe it. he was still in shock.
“it was nice seeing you, curt. it actually was. the stubble suits you.”
“yeah, i’m… uh…” he felt incredibly stupid. “trying to grow a beard.”
“oh,” owen grimaced, “i don’t think so. maybe just keep the five o’ clock shadow?”
curt nodded. he now fully intended to.
“alright. call me if you ever want to talk, alright? as long as you promise not to do that again,” owen laughed, “god knows what he’d think if he knew you thought i was still arse over tits in love.”
“he?”
owen gave him an urging look. we’re in public, i can’t say it.
“oh. right.”
“i really need to be off now,” owen checked his watch. it was new. curt wondered if his new boyfriend got it for him with so much bitterness he almost thought he was drinking chartreuse. “my train leaves in a few minutes. goodbye, curt.”
“uh… bye.”
curt watched him walk away and merge into the sea of people, decided to himself that was definitely a hallucination, and continued his path to the liquor store.