Chapter Text
In hindsight, Curt should have seen this coming. Having a dangerous profession along with a smartass secret boyfriend made for some wacky situations, including but not limited to feeding a human arm to a shark in Australia. (Long story)
So, watching the love of his life slip and fall to a death that he had created, well, it took a few seconds to really sink in. In any other situation, it would’ve taken hours, days even, but he didn’t have days, he had less than two minutes. Still, he froze, staring at the seemingly lifeless body of his lover. The beeping of the timer, combined with a random burst of adrenaline snapped him out of his daze. Curt looked down at his watch, one minute and twenty-eight seconds before the bomb goes off. He bolted down the steps, kneeling down beside Owen. The back room of the weapons facility was dark, lit only by the emergency lights that had activated when Curt set the bomb. In the dim light, he could see that one of Owen’s legs was bent at a funny angle, and he was bleeding from his temple. A lot. Suddenly thankful he had paid attention in his first aid class, Curt managed to pick up his partner without causing too much damage to either of them, not that it mattered if Owen was dead, but still, he wasn’t taking that risk. Curt spared a glance at his wrist, twenty seconds on the clock. He ran.
20
Curt flew to the exit, his partner limply dangling in his arms.
19
All he wanted was for Owen to be alive, he had to get out of that building.
18
He kicked open the door, praying to a god he had long since stopped believing in, for his love to be alright.
17
He wasn’t sure what happened, but he remembered the explosion, and a sharp pain in the back of his head and then ………. nothing.
What……….. what the hell? Curt’s head was spinning, vision blurred as he looked around the Russian wilderness. The world seemed to be a blur of gray and white, the snow-covered treetops stretching out into infinity
He was vaguely aware he was clutching something, someone.
“Owen?” Oh shit, it was. “Owen!” He sat up straight, and almost immediately regretted it. Not only did his head spin, but he was now nauseous at the sight of all the blood surrounding him. And dear god, there was a lot of it. It was staining the snow red and, had he been in a less serious situation, he probably would have passed out again. But he couldn’t afford that now, not with Owen maybe dead, not with it being his fault. The realization hit him like a train. This was his fault. This was all his fault.
Curt prided himself on being well put together in stressful situations. When you were in his line of work, you kind of had to be. But right then and there, he wasn’t a dangerous spy, a sharpshooter or anything of the sort. No, what he was at that moment was scared. Curt surveyed the area before remembering they were sitting in wet clothes in the snow. If Owen was alive right now, he wasn’t about to let him die of hypothermia of all things, so he rushed to the car they left outside the facility with Owen in his arms. He frantically patted his pockets for the keys, before he remembered that he had given them to Owen. Setting him down gently, he leafed through his boyfriend's pockets (Owen would kill him later) finally, he found them. He picked Owen back up and tossed him into the backseat. Curt hopped into the driver's seat and floored the gas pedal. He knew exactly where he was headed.
Two hours later.
Curt had been driving for a while now, only subconsciously aware of the snowy forest slowly giving way to the cityscape. He kept replaying the fall over and over again, agonizing over what he could have done, how he could have done better. He was so lost in thought that when he heard a loud groan from the backseat, he nearly crashed the car, slamming violently on the brakes.
“Good god, Mega,” another groan, “this is why you throw away your bloody garbage.” Curt nearly burst into tears. He was alive. He held back sobs, trying to think of a witty response but ultimately giving up and going for sincerity.
“I thought you were dead.” it was meant to be an exclamation, but it came out as a choked sob.
“Oh, love, you know I wouldn’t dream of leaving you so soon, can’t get rid of me that easily,” Owen said. “Besides, if I was dead then who would be there to save your magnificent ass?”
“You think my ass is magnificent?” Curt asked with a small smile forming on his tear-stained face.
“Really focusing on the important parts, huh Mega?”
“You didn’t answer the question, Cavour.”
“Your ass should be illegal, now, focus on the road. You’re going to get us killed.”
Even through the teasing, Curt could tell Owen was in pain. His speech was strained and he stuttered on his words. Glancing back at him, he could see just how pale his face was.
“Did I not just say to pay attention to the road?” Owen asked, obviously impatient with Curt’s terrible driving.
“You’re paler than my tux right now, we need to take you to a doctor.”
“I’d really rather not, where were we heading anyway?”
The hospital “A safe house” he lied. Curt realized that if Owen had been mentally sound at the time, he definitely would’ve called out his blatant lie, luckily, he was still dazed and didn’t spot any of Curt’s tells. Owen seemed satisfied, closing his eyes and going slightly limp.
“Don’t sleep, keep talking.”
“I love you.”
Half an hour later
“Nope, fuck you, I hate you, turn this goddamn car around right fucking now. I’m not going to some bloody hospital you absolute fucking dumbass—” After that, Curt could no longer understand what Owen was saying, his usually charming British accent always got obnoxiously thick when he was angry. Curt parked his car, rolled down the window, and using all the pent up anxiety and tension from the past few hours, he screamed
“HELP! SOMEBODY, PLEASE HELP ME, MY FRIEND IS HURT.”
“You’re so fucking melodramatic, Mega.” Even so, nurses ran out of the hospital, wheelchair on hand. The last thing he sees Owen do before he’s wheeled into the building is him flipping him off with a broken wrist.
Yet another time skip
Curt sits in a chair across from Owen’s hospital bed. As the very patient nurse hooks him up to the IV, he glares daggers at Curt. Curt politely smiles at the nurse as she takes her leave.
“You are sooooo not getting laid tonight,” Owen said with an annoyed expression, grimacing as he shifted his weight.
“You have a broken wrist, a fractured kneecap, and your ribs are shattered like glass, if anyone’s not getting laid, it’s you.”
“Oh, sod off you bottom bitch.” Curt can't help himself, he bursts out laughing, a bright blush covering his face to the tips of his ears. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, but everything seems funnier somehow.
“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Owen said, suddenly sounding very panicked. “Me saying that could’ve ended in us being shot, you do realize the only thing separating us and everyone else in this hospital is a curtain, right?”
“None of these people speak English, doll.”
“Why would yo- are you mocking me?”
“Whatever could you mean, darling?”
“I’m going to break your ribs,” Owen said, the previous glare back in full force.
“You love me”
“Oftentimes I wonder why.”
“I do believe my magnificent ass is a part of it.”