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It takes Owen longer than he'd like to admit to realize Curt's entering one of his moods again.
In hindsight, all of the signs were there. Curt had been less... Curt, lately. Less rambling, less jumping around, less desire to jump into fire out of boredom. He'd been more irritable, too. Curt's always been a rather whiny bastard (said with love), but when he's in a mood, it goes beyond playfulness and turns downright nasty.
Last night, they'd had somewhat of a fight before bed, though Owen hesitates to call it that. It was more like Curt snipped and snarled about everything he could possibly come up with, and Owen, recognizing that no actual conversations could be held like this, had simply said, "I'm going to bed," before doing just that. He fell asleep soon after, exhausted from a full day of Curt at his throat for seemingly no reason.
At some point, Curt must've joined him, because this morning, he wakes up to familiar weight beside him. Owen smiles, teasing, and says, "Well, love, are you done being moody, or do I need to make us coffee before you bite my head off?"
Curt doesn't reply. Owen frowns.
He knows Curt's awake- he breathes differently when he's asleep- but god, is he really still upset about whatever he was going on about last night? Surely he can't be.
Owen rubs Curt's shoulder. "Curt?"
Curt, awake as suspected, curls into himself, pulling away from Owen's touch in the process. Owen regards him for a moment. "Curt, what is it?"
Nothing.
Owen huffs, climbing out of bed and walking to the other side. Then, he sees Curt's face.
Curt's staring off, seemingly at nothing. He's dazed, like he's been doing it for hours, and his cheeks are tear-stained.
"Oh, cariad," Owen murmurs, kneeling beside him. "Why didn't you say something?"
Curt, if possible, folds in on himself more. " 'm fine," He says, voice hoarse.
"Clearly not. Now, answer me. You and I both know you can tell when you're about to get like this, so why didn't you tell me? I..." Owen trails off, trying not to sound frustrated. "I could've helped," He says softly.
"I'm fine," Curt replies, turning over. "Just leave me alone."
Owen sits there for a few seconds, staring at his back. He knows from experience that there's no use arguing with Curt in this state. Mega is a stubborn arse when he wants to be- which is usually always. Still...
Owen sighs, giving Curt's hand a gentle squeeze. "I'll be downstairs, then. Just- holler if you need me, alright? I'll check in on you later."
Curt doesn't reply. Not that he expected him to, but...
He shakes his head and stands, casting one last look Curt's way before walking out, leaving the door on a crack.
Luckily, they're not scheduled for anything today. Cynthia's usually good about giving Curt the day off if he needs it, though whether that's because she cares or because she knows he's useless in this state is anyone's guess.
They'd tried to complete a mission during one of his episodes, once, but after what happened, it wasn't hard to persuade Cynthia to let him rest instead.
("God, Owen, just drop it!"
"I'm not dropping it, Curt, not until you tell me what the bloody hell you were thinking-"
"I already said I'm sorry, didn't I?!"
"I don't WANT an apology, I want to know what happened!"
"I fucked up! Is that a crime now?"
"You could've died!"
"Jesus, I said I'm sorry!"
"Clearly, you knew it was reckless, because you told me to steer clear of the building, so why didn't you follow your own sodding advice and stay out?! Honestly, Curt, it's like you were trying to get yourself killed!"
"Just leave it, Owen."
"I'm not going to-"
"Owen. Please."
It was the look in his eyes that made Owen drop it. Never, in his life, had he ever seen Curt Mega look so lifeless.)
So, Owen makes himself a cup of tea, and almost makes coffee, before thinking better of it. Convincing Curt to do anything in this state is like herding cats- better to worry about him eating something later on, rather than waste the energy on coffee.
So, he waits. He reads the newspaper, and sips his tea, and recites Lady Macbeth's monolouge in his mind, and runs through the details of his most recent mission, and looks out the window, and watches a stray cat chase some sort of insect, and waits.
Curt doesn't move, which he expects. Curt doesn't call for him, which he expects.
He doesn't know what he's expecting, really, aside from a miracle. Some miraculous epiphany that will solve everything and make him aware of what he can do to fix everything and get that miserable look off of Curt's face.
Instead, the morning passes, and after drumming Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture on the kitchen table about 34 times, Owen stands, and makes his way back up to the bedroom.
He knocks, not sure there's much of a point to it, but feeling as though Curt deserves the privacy. No response.
Taking a deep breath and summoning his cheeriest demeanor, Owen walks in and takes a seat at the edge of the bed, still leaving a comfortable amount of distance.
"How are you feeling?"
Nothing. Undeterred, Owen continues. "Can I get you anything? There's another hour or so until lunchtime, but if you're hungry now, I'm sure I can whip us up something. I can make eggs. Should be a treat for you, since god knows you can't make eggs without burning the entire flat down."
It's a test, and a clever one at that, if he does say so himself. Baiting Curt into teasing with the lowest-hanging fruit imaginable: 1, a blow to his ego, which Curt can't help but feel the need to defend, and 2, a distinctly British word choice, which Curt can't help but make a joke about.
If this episode of Curt's is almost over, he'll reply with a quip like lightning.
If this episode is tough but manageable, his retort will be weak and nonsensical, but he'll at least make an effort.
If it's going to be a really bad one, Curt won't rise to the bait.
And today, Curt doesn't.
Owen sighs quietly. He'd thought so. Well, worth a shot, at the very least.
"Alright, dear," He says, quieter now. "It's a bad one, is it?"
Curt doesn't speak, which is its own form of an answer.
"That's alright, love. That's just fine. We'll just stay in today, shall we? We don't even need to leave the bed, if you don't want to. We'll have a quiet day in, just the two of us. We've been needing one of those, haven't we?"
Owen says it with a practiced certainty, but in reality, he's being as careful as he can. Normally, he'd push a bit more to at least get Curt downstairs, but if he won't even talk right now, it's a lost cause. He can already imagine what a nightmare getting him to eat a few bites of a lunch is going to be. Still, Owen makes sure to say 'we' when talking, knowing that even if he's not feeling his best, Curt will hear the message loud and clear: You don't have to get out of bed, but I'm staying. This is non-negotiable. I am not leaving you alone like this.
Owen shifts closer, waiting to see if Curt protests. He doesn't, so Owen continues until he's pressed against Curt's back. He doesn't quite lean into the touch like Owen had been hoping, but he doesn't pull away, so it will have to do.
"Curt, love. You didn't drink anything while I was downstairs, right?"
He doesn't think so. It doesn't smell like alcohol, and Curt doesn't seem like he has the energy to move right now, but Owen knows better than to underestimate him.
Curt's moods are bad enough, but when alcohol gets involved... Owen remembers it happening once. He does not intend for it to happen again.
(He makes sure that both drinks AND guns are far out of reach before he ever leaves Curt alone like this.
Curt still insists he hadn't meant to, hadn't realized what he was doing, and that it won't happen again.
Owen has no idea if he's telling the truth, but either way, he's not going to risk it.)
"Curt," Owen prompts, kind but firm. "Need an answer to this one, my dear. You don't have to talk after this, alright? But I do need an answer here."
Slowly, Curt shakes his head once. It's such a tiny movement that Owen likely would've missed it if he hadn't been watching so intently for it.
Owen relaxes, just a bit. "Good. Thank you for telling me that, cariad."
Curt is back to being unresponsive.
"I'm going to move to your other side, alright? Just for a moment. I'll shut up, after that."
He moves until, once again, he's face to face with Curt, who looks about the same as he had earlier.
Owen lightly brings up a hand to cup Curt's cheek, tilting his head up until Curt's looking at him- or, in his direction, at least.
"Is me talking helping? I know it annoys you somedays. I'll stop if you need me to."
Curt doesn't respond, and as promised, Owen doesn't push him. But, like he was hoping, he can see just enough exhaustion in Curt eyes to get an answer.
"You're pretty tired, aren't you? Alright, I'll shut up, then. Let's just lay down, hm?" Owen lets Curt go, and his head drops back down onto the pillow. "Do you want me to give you some space?"
At that, Curt does seem to react. It's small, but his eyes dart up to meet Owen's, and there's a distant panic to them, like Curt's trying to say no through a thick fog.
"Alright," Owen says quickly, hands on Curt before he can panic more. "Alright, love, easy. I'll stay. I'm staying, Curt, I'm right here. Breathe, love. It's alright."
Slowly, Curt seems to relax, face going blank again. Owen almost wishes he was still afraid, if only to see some sort of life to him, before he's immediately scolding himself. That's not fair to Curt. He's clearly struggling enough without Owen giving him a hard time.
Frowning, Owen forces himself to lay down and relax his body, hoping it will encourage Curt to do the same. Slowly, Owen pulls Curt to him, careful to watch for any reactions. But Curt just stays limp, allowing himself to be dragged close like a ragdoll. When he's pressed flush against Owen's chest, Curt seems to lean into him, just slightly, and Owen feels his heart swell with- something.
He's not sure if it's happy or sad, exactly, but it's loving. He knows that for sure.
Owen pulls the covers up over both of them, taking great care to tuck them in the way he knows Curt likes, and finally allows his own head to hit the pillow beneath it. He glances down at Curt, tucked neatly underneath his chin and in the crook of his neck. Owen reaches a hand up to trail through Curt's hair absentmindedly.
It's a few minutes into this, just when Owen's starting to wonder if he should try to sleep, that Curt speaks.
It's one word. A small, quiet thing, that sounds as though Curt's fighting to force it out.
"Sorry," He says, sounding so dejected that Owen feels his eyes grow wet.
"Don't be," He says, not even bothering to ask what it is that Curt's apologizing for. It doesn't matter. "You have nothing to apologize for, Curt. Just rest, alright?"
Curt doesn't respond, but after a little while, his breathing slows down and starts to sound the way it does when he's sleeping.
So, Owen wriggles, pulls him just a bit closer, and settles in to follow suit, hoping that when they both wake up, Curt's feeling a little better.
Either way, Owen thinks to himself, he'll be with him.