Chapter Text
Owen and Curt stood on the staircase. Curt had shot Owen’s gun out of his hand and was now pointing his own gun at Owen’s head. He wouldn’t kill me. Right? After all we’ve been through? Owen thought. Curt couldn’t kill him, but maybe he could.
“You know, killing me won’t take the system offline, so, what are you doing?” Owen swallowed, trying to hide the quiet twinge of fear in his voice. Clearly, he didn’t hide it well enough because Curt reaffirmed his gun’s aim. This was one of his tells, it meant he gained confidence. He knew he gained the upper hand, that upper hand being striking fear in his opponent. Owen was scared. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was. He had finally gotten the system to launch. All of his hard work was finally paying off. He couldn’t die. Not now. Well, maybe he could. Maybe he should. Killing him wouldn’t take the system offline. The system would work, his unfinished symphony would finally be complete. It would be shown to all, and he could finally rest. Maybe death would be okay. Owen had killed so many people. He had caused so much bloodshed. Maybe it was his turn. Maybe this was for the best.
“Taking your advice.” Those were the last words Owen heard before Curt shot his former lover square in the forehead.
~~~~~
Darkness, endless darkness. It was comfortable. Owen finally felt at peace. As he settled into the blissfully quiet dark, something faded into view: a vignette, old and long-buried. Where was he? What was this? He quickly recognized the scene; it was a memory. Owen was a firm believer in the theory that after death the brain stays alive for 7 minutes and plays its happiest memories. He was now learning that this was, in fact, true.
7.
~
June 14th, 1952
Owen had finally been assigned a partner. He had been in the field for 4 years solo, but he knew that eventually, his luck would have to run out. Owen worked alone and that was how he liked it. MI6 had collaborated with A.S.S. to keep political bonds tight. In Owen’s boss’s exact words, “They are sending their best, so we are sending ours.”
Owen never thought of himself as “the best.” He was good at his job, he had to be, but he always assumed that there was someone who was better than him. Someone who was one step ahead.
Yet here he was, sitting in the back corner booth of a restaurant in New York. Owen had never been to Brooklyn before. He never had a reason to. All he knew about Brooklyn was that the people were not the most polite and the pizza was said to be amazing.
A man walked into the pizzeria and called out to the guy behind the counter, “Hey Tony!” He then walked to the back of the restaruant to talk to Owen, “Oh, sorry I’m late, Hello, I’m… I’m…” the man stuttered as he spoke. He was surprised when he saw Owen. He stopped fumbling and continued, “I’m Mega, Curt Mega.”
The Agent Curt Mega. The best of the best over at the American Secret Service. He sure did look the part. Curt Mega looked like the textbook definition of an American spy. He had the world's most perfect dark brown hair. It was slicked back, yet there were still a few strands of hair that fell in his face. He dressed like someone who lived in Brooklyn. He didn’t stand out in a spy way, he stood out in an attractive way. Owen couldn’t think of a better word to describe him than attractive. Curt Mega radiated charisma. He was so suave, yet he stuttered when he first spoke to Owen. I wonder why he did that
“Owen Carvour,” his voice was smooth. Curt’s face lit up at hearing Owen’s English accent. It showed Curt that he was right, that this was his new partner.
“So you’re my new partner, huh? Well, I can’t wait to see what MI6 meant when they said they were sending their best.” his voice was clearly teasing. He smiled a little as he sat down across the table from his new British partner.
“Curt, love, you can’t just loudly mention that I work for MI6. What if someone heard that?” Owen glanced around the restaurant, his brows furrowed. He was too worried about the secrets of his employment being spilled to notice how Curt’s face turned bright red when he called him love. He had never met someone so open about being a spy. It was as if he didn’t care who heard him. He didn’t hide who he was or what he was doing.
“Who’s gonna hear us? Tony? Please, Owen, trust me, I come here all the time. The mob does more business here than any secret service agent ever could. Tony doesn’t get paid enough to care, or, more importantly, to snitch. Isn’t that right, Tony?”
Tony rolled his eyes, “Curt, as long as you don’t kill someone in my restaurant, I couldn’t care less what you do for a living.”
“See, trust me, Owen, I know this area, I promise you it’s safe to talk about this stuff here. So, what do we got” Curt quickly ordered a pizza and sodas for the both of them as Owen explained the file and the briefing that he was given.
“Did you not get a briefing?” How could Curt not know any of these details? They were the bare bones of this mission.
“I did. I skimmed it, but it was a lot of words and Cynthia always phrases things weird to trip me up. Like she's treating these missions as a test for me or something.”
“Have you ever read a briefing before a mission?”
“Once or twice, maybe. I’ve had no reason to. The jobs I’ve been given have always been very straightforward. I learned everything that I needed to know when I got there.” Curt was loose and casual about everything in their job. It was almost impressive. Curt Mega was the best of the best at the American Secret Service, and he practically never prepped. He lived his life on the edge and didn’t fear the consequences that his lack of preparation might bring him.
The entire interaction was incredibly unproductive. Owen kept trying to keep Curt on track and focused on the mission at hand, and Curt always deflected it by trying to get to know Owen.
“We need to enter the Grand Central Station at exactly 5:00 on Friday in order to make sure we miss nothing if they act early. We have intel saying that there is a back room below the station where the bomb is going to be sold. No one knows who the bomb is going to, but it’s our job to make… sure...” The agent in front of him was very clearly zoned out, “Curt are you even listening to me?”
“Y-Yes, Yes I have been listening, uh to you.”
“Okay, what did I just tell you?”
“Um, uh, you said, that, um, wait, I got it. You said that we need to steal a bomb from a weapons dealer and bomb the Grand Central Station.” There was a sense of pride in his eyes as he said it like he genuinely thought he had gotten it right.
“No. No, love, that is not at all what I said. We need to steal the bomb from the Grand Central Station.” He exhaled and rubbed his temples. “Let me repeat myself: We are not going to bomb the Grand Central Station.” This was going to be a long mission if Curt kept up this attitude. Outside, the clock struck five and, just like that, Curt was delivered a glass of what appeared to be whiskey.
“Why thank you, Tony, you know me so well.” He raised his glass and toasted in Tony’s direction.
Owen gave an exasperated sigh. “Really, Curt? Drinking on the job?”
“Hey! Don’t judge my working habits. They got me this far.” He took a sip of his drink and, as Owen watched, something clicked. The second he swallowed that whiskey, his eyes almost lit. Curt straightened his back and set his drink down. “Okay, so, if we’re entering the station at 5, when do we expect the arms deal to go down?”
Just like that, Curt was asking helpful questions. He looked intrigued. Owen had been trying to get Curt to pay attention to this mission for about an hour and a half, and suddenly, Curt was helping.
“Oh- okay well, the deal is supposed to happen at around 5:30, so I planned on us getting there at 5 that way we have a good half an hour to scan the perimeter.”
Curt shook his head, “No, no we should be there by 4:45 at minimum.”
Owen was shocked by this. Was Curt Mega really critiquing his plan? The same Curt Mega who spent the previous hour and a half joking around and taking nothing seriously is now critiquing his intricately crafted plan. “Okay Mega, explain. Why do we need to get there 45 minutes earlier than when the bomb is going to be sold?” 15 minutes early was protocol, 30 minutes was playing it safe, but 45 minutes before the deal would go down was risking revealing themselves or worse, wasting precious time.
“The Grand Central Station is incredibly busy at 5. It's rush hour from work for the locals and a very popular tourist destination for anyone else. When people go to New York, they want to go to the famed Grand Central Station. It’s summer vacation, so plenty of families are here to show their kids the sites of one of America’s greatest cities. When you put the number of civilians that will be there into the equation, it could take us 10 minutes alone just to walk through the crowds. Trust me on this one, Owen, 4:45 is the way to go.”
Owen didn’t know what he was feeling right now, but it was definitely something. He had severely underestimated Curt Mega’s skills in planning and espionage before this exact moment. He was right. The Grand Central Station would be packed at the hour that they needed to be there. If Curt hadn’t said anything, they would’ve gotten there 15 minutes later and possibly missed the deal because of the hustle and bustle of the crowds. Owen couldn’t tell if he was attracted to Curt right now or just very impressed. It was a good mix of both. Intellect is attractive, and when it comes from Curt it’s equally hot as it is surprising. Owen sat there for 45 seconds just staring in awe at the man in front of him, and Curt noticed.
“Owen?” He snapped his fingers in front of the agent's face. “Owen? Listen I know I’m a smooth talker, but- here let’s get you something that’ll help you focus better. If it works for me, it might work for you. Hey Tony! Can I get another whiskey on the rocks?”
“You’re working Curt, I’m limiting you to 3 drinks remember? Do you really want to waste your second one now?”
“It’s not for me! It’s for my friend here, please?”
Tony rolled his eyes and brought a drink over for Owen, who was nolonger staring at Curt but still looked impressed.
“This doesn’t count as one of mine right?” It was a stupid question, but a genuine one.
“No it doesn’t count. Get back to your work, Curt.” This was clearly not the first time Curt had worked on a case file in Antonio’s Pizzeria.
Owen took a large swig of his drink. “You’re right.”
Curt spit out part of his drink. “Wait, you didn’t plan for the crowds?”
Owen shook his head. He was disappointed in himself. It was so obvious. How could he forget about crowds? It was New York City, the city known for being crowded. “I didn’t consider rush ho-”
“HA SEE! Sorry, sorry that was rude. Listen if you didn’t consider how tourist-y this city is, then it’s clear that you need a partner about as much as I need one.” He held out his hand. Owen took his forearm instead.
When Curt looked confused at this weird-arm-shake-thing, Owen explained. “It means I’ve got your back, and it also means I trust you. We use it back at MI6, but if you don’t like it we can stick to a handshake”
Owen tried to pull away, but Curt gripped his new partner’s forearm tighter. “Nope, this works for me” The smile on Curt’s face as he spoke was bright enough to light up all of New York City.
Curt Mega you are going to be the death of me.