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"Personal history does have its benefits, Mega."
Curt felt like throwing up from the words alone, but seeing the Deadliest Man Alive reach up and start taking off a mask sent everything into slow motion as, some-fucking-how, Owen Carvour was revealed. Curt's only thought was,
Guh.
He stared, convinced he'd lost his mind until Tatiana said, "Owen?"
Curt's head snapped to look at her to make sure they were looking at the same thing, and then looked back to Owen. Owen. He dropped the mask to the ground. "Hello, Curt. Long time, no-"
Curt's body lurched itself forward. Owen's eyes flashed and widened in surprise and he reached for his gun, but it was too late. Curt crashed into him and Owen said, "Omph!"
Owen was solid under his hands, too skinny, but alive. Tatiana saw him too, so he had to be. He smelled like gunpowder and vodka from drinking with the diplomats, his hair was slightly greasy under Curt's fingers but his clothes smelled like detergent. Curt gripped the fabric of his shirt and he tucked his face against Owen's neck like he always used to, breathing him in greedily. Owen was stone still against him, not even breathing while Curt felt like he was about to start hyperventilating as he ran his hands up and down Owen's back. Touching him again was a better fix than alcohol could ever offer.
"Baby," Curt choked out, part of him still unbelieving.
"I- You-" Owen's hands flailed until they landed on Curt's shoulders and shoved him away. "You do not get to call me that!"
Curt stumbled back a few steps. Owen's eyes were manic and he was breathing heavily, and no, I don't want him to look like that, so Curt rushed back, hugging him tighter than before. Let me help you. Please, please, let me try to make it better.
"I know, I'm so, so sorry," Curt hissed desperately, "Owe, I'm so sorry."
"Get off of me," Owen demanded, voice breaking, trying to push Curt away again but it wasn't as hard. Curt buried his hand in Owen's hair, petting the way he knew Owen liked it. "Get off," he repeated, gripping Curt's arms. "God, I hate you, get off!"
Curt shook his head vehemently. I'm never letting you go again.
"Stop it," Owen begged, pathetically trying to dislodge him. Curt could feel him falling into his embrace. "Please, fuck, stop it, stop it, stop..."
"No," he whispered hoarsely.
Owen sucked in a ragged breath and tried to get away again, but it was easy to keep him close. "I hate you," he croaked, sounding like he was about to cry. That was good, because Curt was pretty sure he already was. "I hate you."
"I do, too," Curt replied quietly, pulling away enough to see Owen's face for the first time since the worst day of his life. His shaking hands reached up and held gaunt cheeks, running the pads of his thumbs over new wrinkles that he never got to see form. Owen's eyes squeezed close and he gripped Curt's wrists so hard that he was sure to leave bruises. Good.
"Let go of me," he tried, like Curt wasn't wiping his tears.
"Never," Curt promised, threatened, swore. He heard himself laugh as tears squeezed out of the corners of his own eyes. "Fuck, Owe, you're as beautiful as the day I lost you."
"You didn't lose me, you killed me."
"I killed me, too," he whispered. "You have to know that you're the only thing that has ever mattered to me."
"I hate you," Owen sobbed, face crumpling. "I hate you."
"I know," he said, tucking Owen's hair behind his ear.
"I loved you."
"I love you."
"Then- then why-" Owen nearly yelled, fists pounding weakly on Curt's chest. "Why, why, why, why?!"
Curt carefully lowered them to the ground as Owen gripped his jacket, the leather jacket that Owen had bought him as a gift. The jacket that he practically lived in the past four years. "I was an idiot. I am an idiot. Baby, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, I swear that I-"
He cut himself off because Owen was breaking. He had to stay strong for him, had hold all of those broken pieces gently and try to help him put them back together, if he was allowed. His breakdown could wait, because he'd been breaking down since it happened. They ended up with Curt between Owen's legs, holding him as he wailed into Curt's shoulder. Curt rocked them back and forth, petting his hair and whispering apologies and promises. At some point he glanced over his shoulder, but Tatiana and the Informant were gone. Hopefully one of them was guarding the door, and hopefully it was Tatiana.
Time passed and Curt moved them so they were up against a wall, able to lean back and so he could hold Owen properly. Owen complied soundlessly, the tears still streaming down his cheeks. Presently Owen's legs were over Curt's lap and he was curled against Curt's chest, no longer crying but staring lifelessly down at his hands that were still shaking. Trauma response or a chronic condition, Curt didn't know. But he wanted to, oh, how he wanted to learn all the ways that Owen had changed over the past four years, and how he was still the same. He'd been stroking Owen's hair in silence for so long that it startled him when Owen weakly said,
"Take it."
He had to clear his throat in order to talk. "Take what?"
Owen's shaking hands pulled out the deed and dropped it into his lap. Curt picked it up. "I don't care anymore."
Curt didn't even know what this whole thing was about, but he nodded and tucked it in his jacket. "Thank you."
"I want to leave," he sniffed. Curt wiped the tears that began to fall.
"Okay," he whispered. "We're in a shitty motel half an hour out." Owen nodded mutely. "I'm going to move you, alright? Going to tell Tatiana the plan and she'll help get us out of here."
He tried to get up, but Owen gripped him with surprising strength. Taking the hint, Curt got Owen up with him and took a moment to make sure he was steady on his feet. Owen wouldn't look him in the eye, but he wouldn't let go of Curt's wrist, either. When he tried to take his hand, Owen stepped away like a scared animal and it broke Curt's heart. Tentatively, he reached out a hand and with implied permission, led Owen to the door with a gentle hand on his back. He knocked before opening it and found Tatiana outside. She cocked her head, questioning.
"Can you get us back to the hotel?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," she said slowly. "Can I speak with you?"
Curt shook his head. "Later."
She raised her eyebrows and sighed. "Let me contact Barb."
"Thanks. Come on, Owe."
Taking the staff route, they made it outside. Tatiana walked ahead of them and the Informant walked behind them until Curt made them join Tatiana in the front because he could tell it was stressing Owen out, knowing someone was behind him. The whole time he kept a hand on Owen's shoulder or back or arm, it didn't matter, as long as they were touching. It took a while for Barb to show up with the car. Tatiana and the Informant were twenty paces away talking, and Curt couldn't take his eyes off Owen, who was still staring at the ground.
When Owen tentatively reached out, Curt had to contain himself. He watched, heart in his throat, as Owen slowly took his hand and let his head thump against Curt's shoulder. As he was rubbing Owen's side he was aware that there was a possibility that Owen could pull out a hidden knife and gut him, but he didn't really care. At the very least, it would be poetic justice. It was clear that Owen didn't care either, because when the headlights rounded the corner, he didn't even try to step away to put them in a less compromising position. Curt never wanted to move again.
"What's going on?" came Barb's irritating squeaking voice. Owen winced and Curt wanted to yell at her to shut up. Tatiana handled it before turning to the two of them.
"I'm going to stay and clean up. The four of you will go back and I will join you later."
"Be right back," he whispered. Owen nodded minutely. "Thank you so much," he said to Tatiana, hugging her tightly.
"There's going to be a lot of fallout from this," she warned, patting him on the back.
"I know." They both looked at Owen, who was shrunk against the wall. "We'll deal with it later."
"Mm. Curt."
"Yeah?"
"I don't know what is going on, but... I'm happy for you."
He smiled, knowing that he was closer to being happy than he'd been in four years. "Thank you."
"I think. I hope that this isn't a con."
"Yeah..." he sighed. "I don't think it is. Either way, that's Future Curt and Tatiana's problem. I gotta go."
"Be safe."
"You, too." He walked back to Owen, who flinched when Curt reached out. He put a small smile on his face when Owen's eyes flicked up to meet his for a moment before looking back down. "Come on, baby. Let's get out of here."
He knew he was pushing his luck, but the tiny smile that graced Owen's face for half a second was worth it. Curt opened the door for Owen and went to the other side to join him. The Informant got in the passenger seat and talked with Barb for nearly the whole ride as Curt watched Owen and Owen looked out the window. It made him happy that Owen let him get the door again. He said goodnight and thank you and led Owen to his hotel room that he was originally sharing with Tatiana.
Curt deposited Owen on the bed. "I'm gonna run you a bath, alright?"
"I'd rather shower, if that's okay," came Owen's whisper, which Curt wasn't expecting. Well fuck. He wasn't about to suggest that they shower together, because he needed one, too. Curt didn't want to let him out of his sight. What if he ran away? "I'm not going anywhere, Curt. I don't... I don't have anywhere to go, do I?"
"I'm scared to look away because what if you disappear and all of this is a really vivid dream?" he blurted, much to his embarrassment. But Owen huffed out a laugh and Curt vowed to embarrass himself more.
"It's just a shower," he whispered. "Not like there's a window. Is there? No? And... I told you, I don't have anywhere to go."
Curt blinked rapidly. "Okay." You have me. Let me be your home again, because you're still mine.
"I don't have any clothes."
"I do," he said quickly. "Two clean pairs. And the- the pajama pants you... had. You can have them back."
Owen stared at his chest, disbelieving. "Oh."
"You can wear them," Curt felt the beginning of a ramble coming on. "They were always too long on me, and-"
"I have missed those," Owen murmured.
"I'd like to see you wearing them again," he tried, feeling desperate. "You look good in daisies."
"As long as you've got that lavender shirt," Owen snorted.
"I do," Curt replied immediately. "I know how much you loved it. Uh, love it. Loved?"
Silence. Slowly, Owen exhaled and shook his head. "Curt..."
"No, you're right, I'm sorry," Curt said quickly, feeling like he was free falling. "I'll go turn on the shower." He fled the room and turned on the faucet with shaking hands. "Gonna use the bathroom," he said, closing the door.
Yes, he didn't want to take his eyes off of Owen, but he needed a moment to freak out on his own. Cursing quietly, he splashed cold water onto his face and looked at himself in the mirror.
"Do not," he whispered firmly, "fuck this up, Mega." The water was hot but the time he was done and he took a breath to compose himself before opening the door, exhaling gratefully when he saw Owen straightening up with clothes in hand taken from Curt's bag. He croaked, "Water's ready."
Owen nodded and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Curt sat on the bed, fist pressed against his mouth, staring at the door. Owen, in the other room. Owen, washing off the grime of a mission like they'd done hundreds of times before. Owen, about to walk out in his favorite pajama pants that had been saved by a mourning lover and Curt's shirt. The shirt he was wearing when they met.
A knock at the door had him pulling his gun from his waistband in a flash. Upon further inspection, the Informant was outside. Curt opened the door, concerned. "What's wrong?"
They blinked and held up two paper bags. "Nothing. Just thought you two might be hungry."
"Oh. Uh, thanks, man."
"No problem. That's two bacon cheeseburgers with waffle fries."
A smile tugged on the corner of Curt's mouth. "Sounds great. Night. Thanks again."
They waved. "Night."
Owen liked to pretend that he hated burgers, claiming that they're unhealthy and American, both of which were true. But he knew that Owen secretly loved them. Conveniently, he was walking out of the bathroom as Curt closed the door. He held up the bags triumphantly but stopped short upon seeing Owen dressed like that, soft and tired and warm. Curt needed to hold him. Instead he cleared his throat.
"Burgers and fries."
"Oh, great," Owen said sarcastically, but when it was put in front of him he practically inhaled it.
When was the last time you had a real meal?
"Got anything to drink with this?" he asked through a full mouth.
Curt spoke with food in his mouth, but covered it with his hand because Owen didn't like looking at half-chewed food. "Water or something stronger?"
"Sumffin' stronger."
"Yeah, of course."
He handed over his pocket flask, the one that Owen had given him. Recognition flashed in his eyes and he stared at it for a moment before opening it with greasy fingers and drinking it like water. Curt watched in alarm.
"Oh, come off it," Owen snapped when he saw Curt looking at him. "This is your usual, but it's not mine. This situation is- it- it's a lot. And I wanted booze. Because being here with you is bloody weird," he finished under his breath before taking another swig. Curt accepted it when he was done and followed his example.
They ate in silence and then Curt took the quickest shower of his life. When he came out, Owen was on the bed holding his gun and Curt's stomach dropped. He knew it was too good to be true, but at least he got to see Owen again, and Owen was going to be the one to kill him. "Owe?"
Owen met his eyes. There was a blank look on his face. Nothing like the forced blankness that they had to learn to survive, but one that spoke of unspeakable loss and sacrifice, of all the horrors that the human mind can come up with. Curt slowly approached and took the gun out of Owen's limp hands. The magazine was loaded but the safety was on. He put it on the nightstand.
"Up," he said, pulling at the blankets. Owen shifted and Curt was able to lay the blankets over his legs, tucking him in. His heart hurt. "Can I sleep in the bed with you?" he asked quietly, hoping beyond hope that he could. Lord knows he didn't deserve it.
Owen nodded and Curt wanted to sob in relief, jump for joy, or throw himself off a cliff. Maybe all three in that order. Instead he went to his side of the bed and crawled in under the covers as far away as possible. He watched with his head on the pillow as Owen sat there, arms crossed and staring at his lap for at least five minutes.
"Come on, ba- come on, Owen. You look exhausted. Lay down."
His lower lip began to tremble and Curt propped himself up on his elbow quickly, putting a comforting hand on his knee. "I'm so tired, Curt," he whispered shakily. "I'm so tired."
His heart broke and he pressed his forehead against Owen's arm. "Shh, I know, I know, come here. Please come here."
Owen slid down, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, into Curt's arms. His hair was damp and his clothes smelled faintly like Curt's cologne, which Owen bought him six years ago. He was warm and had a full belly. Underneath the cheap soap was the natural scent that Curt had been craving like heroin for four years. Their legs tangled together and Owen's breathing slowed. Curt lay awake, mind spinning even though his body was shutting down.
"Go to sleep," Owen murmured, mostly asleep himself.
Curt laughed through his nose and shifted to a more comfortable position before holding Owen as close as possible. When Owen lightly nuzzled into his neck he wanted to cry. Instead he pressed a kiss to Owen's hairline, pouring all his love and devotion and apologies and self loathing into it. The grip on his shirt tightened and loosened a few minutes later when Owen finally went to sleep. Curt traced his fingertips over his face, relearning what he never forgot. He smiled, really smiled for the first time in years and whispered,
"I love you."