Chapter Text
"Time to take your final bow, Curt."
Every word bounced and echoed off the walls in the warehouse, dimly lit and reeking of metal and oil. There birds nestled in the rafters, boxes and shelves overturned and scattered, and a draft coiling itself around their ankles no matter where they stood. The place was falling apart.
Hazy sunlight drifted in through one of the many holes in the ceiling, beaming straight down onto Owen. It was cruel how he was framed. He was stood half-way up the staircase, looking down upon Curt, which was completely unnecessary as he was already a fair few inches taller than him. The makeshift spotlight made the air look fuzzy and smokey and Curt could see the many dust particles in the air as they twirled around Owen, as if they were afraid to touch him. As if they were just as afraid as Curt was of touching him. As if one brush against Owen's skin would make him forget he was here to stop Owen, kill him if it came to it, and go weak at the knees in a way he hadn't done in four long years and grab on and not let go and Owen's hands would pet his hair and tell him how good he was for him and it would be like nothing had ever ripped him away.
But that wasn't Owen. It couldn't be. It was just a monster wearing his face, speaking with his voice. All Curt saw in those eyes was angry shifting into an almost blank expression. How could it be Owen if he hated Curt that much? But then again, what could he expect. He'd seen Owen stop moving and if he hadn't been so fucking stupidly cocky and arrogant and wanting to impress Owen as always and have a little fun he would have set the timer for more than three minutes and had time to go back for Owen's body, he would have had time to properly check if Owen was really dead.
It was all his fault. He'd ran out of there, thinking at least one of them should make it out. He'd not set the timer for six minutes per the original plan. He'd left the banana peel on the floor.
He'd left Owen for dead.
'I spent almost as much time hating you as you did' Owen's words from earlier rang in his ears.
Four long years of grieving, and where had it gotten him? He hadn't moved on in the slightest. He could almost imagine Owen dropping his gun and pressing Curt backwards into the railing and kissing him, then perhaps Curt could believe this was all a dream. He could cope with that more than Owen being back from the grave, only to have turned into a man hellbent on revenge with the highest kill count in the world wanting to tear apart the world's governments at its roots.
Yes. That's what he had to remember. Whether any of the old Owen was in there or not, Curt had to stay focused on what he was about to do. This might be a mission he was choosing to see through on his own, with no Cynthia swearing in his ear, but this was the most important mission he'd ever been on.
"My team is destroying your island facility as we speak," The 'team' being just Tatiana and Barb, but Curt had complete confidence they could handle it. He let himself slip into that more confident, smug tone of voice. "Your surveillance network is fried. There'll be no encore tonight... for you."
Owen moved, leaning forwards and Curt should be thinking more about Owen punching him than kissing him. But then he settled one step lower, twisting so he was fully facing Curt.
"Perhaps you've destroyed that island facility, but what of the others?" He said it so matter-of-fact, so calmly, that it took Curt a moment to fully process what he'd said.
"There's more?" Perhaps he'd been as stupid as Owen was saying he was to think it would be that easy, but how could he possibly have expected any of this?
"How does it feel to know that you'll never catch up with us?" Owen's lips twisted into a smirk and he let out a breath of a chuckle.
Curt felt like he was going to throw up. His mind was racing as he realised he'd been lowering his gun. "It's not to late to fix this... Uh," Think, Curt. "If you agree to give up Chimera, I'm sure the agency can pull some strings and-"
"You still don't see, do you Curt!" Owen's hands flew up in the air as he yelled, pinching the bridge of his nose, a familiar gesture that in another time Curt had found cute. "There won't be any agency to go back to once the system is global! I'm going to single handedly dismantle everything you've ever believed in!"
Curt watched as Owen's voice raised and wavered, his breath shaking, shoulders rising, as he finished shouting. He thought he could see Owen's hand trembling. He knew his own were, now both resting at his sides.
Maybe there was some old Owen in there. Maybe he could still be convinced. Maybe he could have Owen back...
"We used to share those beliefs. Think of the missions we served. The lives we saved! The impact we had on this world. Together... Two of the greatest spies to ever live," Curt could feel his voice starting to break. "You consider that, and you look me in the eyes, and you tell me that you don't believe we're making a difference!"
Owen just shook his head. "The future is happening, Curt, and it's not going to wait for you," His gun moved in tandem with his voice, pointing at Curt to emphasise his words. "What use will one man be, when a box in a room can do his job in seconds?" Owen spat.
"Sounds boring," The same words he'd said again and again, but never when his voice sounded so wet.
Owen almost laughed at the familiar phrase. "You're a caveman, and I've invented fire."
"I'll stop you."
"You'll do your best."
"'Once a spy, always a spy', isn't that what we used to say? What the agencies shoved down our throats. I remember..." Curt couldn't look at Owen. He could feel the tears starting to make their way down his face and heard the click cocking of the gun. He thought of him and Owen laughing in quiet hotel rooms after missions, talking as if the moments could shatter. The long phone calls when Owen was stuck in London for too long (there's no 'too long' when it comes to serving queen and country, my dear). How Owen would stretch out behind him. How the height difference meant when things got too much and he let his walls down he could tuck his head under Owen's chin.
"A new world awaits us, Curt. A world without agencies, a world without spies, a world without secrets."
"Some secrets aren't yours to share," He took a breath and looked up at Owen, raising his head and stepping out of where he'd slumped against the wall. "What about our secret?" He watched Owen twitch and glance away for a second. "The time we shared," Curt continued. "The feelings we had..." He ascended the stairs and as he got closer Owen's gun moved lower and lower until it was almost pressed against Curt's chest. "...for each other. Are you ready to share that with the world?"
How could he possibly kill him after all of that?
Owen faltered. It was just a moment, just a brief moment. But in that moment a crack appeared on the mask and a tiny sliver of something peaked through.
"That secret died the night you left me for dead."
Curt took another step, the gun pressed against his chest now.
"I don't believe you."
Their eyes were locked. Curt felt like Owen was trying to peer into his soul, as he thought everything was a trap. But he knew, hell everyone knew, Curt hadn't moved on at all. That Owen's 'death' had left him completely heartbroken and devastated, left him a shell of a man. He watched as Owen seemed to realise, fully realise that and what it meant for the first time without laughing at him.
And then Owen's arm was moving back and he holstered his gun.
Curt would definitely not be surprised if he was dreaming now. Was Owen going to give up Chimera? Was he going to invite Curt to shoot him? Was he going to just try and run...?
That... wouldn't be a bad idea on his part seeing as he just worked out Curt didn't have it in him to kill him.
"I'll never stop chasing you," Curt said. Eyes flicking between Owen at the door at the top of the staircase. What was that? Was he inviting Owen to leave?
"No..." Owen's voice was a low murmur and Curt tried not to focus on it. His finger itching against his gun. He focused on memorising Owen's face, not that he'd forgotten it, but seeing it again so close he mapped out each and every contour, trying to latch onto something, anything.
He'd have to figure something out. Seeing as though Owen was this far ahead it would be easily believable if he told Cynthia he hadn't managed to catch up to Owen... That was even if he could even get into Cynthia's office. He'd gone rogue. He didn't work for anyone anymore. Maybe he could just work like this from now on, be self-employed of sorts, tracking down Owen and the other members of Chimera, perhaps he could convince Tatiana to continue helping him, though that wasn't fair to her, well then perhaps-
Curt could feel the anxiety that had been rising in his head sluggishly stop. He hadn't realised he's started zoning out and when his eye's refocused he saw one of Owen's hands was outstretched, clenched in a fist and pointed at his neck... Well, if he wanted to punch him why didn't he just... Why didn't he just... do it...?
There was a clattering sound and Curt was vaguely aware that was the sound of his own gun falling to the floor, but he was more focused on catching himself as he stumbled backwards, hitting the railing and starting to slide down. As Owen walked out of the beam of light, it caught and glinted off the ring on his fist... When had he heard something about a ring...?
He rifled through what he could remember about all the gadgets Barb had shown him over the years.
Squeeze the ring right here and out comes a poison dart.
Oh. Shit.
The last thing he saw before his vision went completely black was Owen getting closer and closer, close enough Curt could smell him and that just seemed to make him dizzier.
He thought he heard a voice say "Easy, love, I've got you," As he fell into unconsciousness.