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Owen held the machete to Curts throat. He held Curts shoulder with his other hand. It was still strong and felt nice in his hand, but it wasn't as strong. Curt's time away from the field had lessened his muscles. Owen didn't mind. It wouldn't matter soon anyway. He felt the cool weight of the machete in his hand, and worked to keep it steady. He had dreamed of this moment so many times. He could do this. He dug the blade in slightly, but still not enough to draw blood. He wanted to drag this out.
Curts shoulders began to shake. Owen looked down at him and noticed that his entire upper body was shaking. He was crying. Curt never cried.
"Are you crying?" He asked sincerely, too confused to tease him.
"No." Yes he definitely was.
Owen gently removed the blade from his throat and walked in front of him. "Yes you are. Look at you. Famous agent Curt Mega, reduced to tears by some light torture."
"Go to hell you british twat." Another tear rolled down his cheek.
Owen reached out to dry his eyes. He was gentle, and almost shivered when his fingers made contact with Curt's soft face. There was stubble on his cheek. He always liked Curt's stubble. Not that horrible beard, though.
"Look at you, Deadliest Man Alive." He raised his eyebrow in an attempt to look cool and collected. It didn't work, due to the fact he was still lightly crying. "Bit soft, no?"
Owen hummed. He gazed at Curt. His face was older than it had been, but not only that. It looked like he had been locked out of his head for years, as if he had been stuck living with his thoughts and nothing else. Owen could see the spark was gone from Curt's eyes. His laugh lines were no longer pronounced, barely visible. He smelt like he had decided scotch was a good cologne.
"Dude?"
Owen held the machete tight in his hand, and walked back behind Curt. He slashed the rope that attached his hands to the chair.
Curt sat rigid, unsure what was happening.
Owen took a new piece of rope and tied Curts hands together, but not to the chair. He cut away the bottom rope that attached his feet to the chair. He stood and walked in front of Curt, taking his hands and helping him to his feet.
"What's happening?"
"I'm taking you to my room."
"Why?"
He didn't actually know the answer.
He led Curt down a couple of hallways and a flight of stairs until they finally reached a door that was hidden away from all other rooms. It even had a mini corridor to set it free from the actual hall. Owen opened the door and led Curt in, setting him on the bed before locking the door.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm not going to kill you." He replied, the only thing he was completely sure on. His thoughts were racing.
"Why?"
"I don't know. I can't do it."
"So what are we doing instead?"
"You're staying with me."
"For how long?"
"I don't know yet."
Curt said nothing.
Owen took off his shirt so he could get into his pajamas. He could feel Curt's eyes burning a hole into his chest.
"How did you get those scars?"
"What?"
"Your face has no scars, but the rest of you is all scarred. Those look like burns, and those look like they were done by weapons. Maybe a gun? That one looks like a knife."
"I used to be in a pretty dangerous field of work." He didn't want to lie, but wasn't ready to be completely honest. Not yet anyway.
"How'd you get burnt?"
"A bomb went off."
"And you were stuck in it?"
"Exactly."
"And what about the one I thought was a gun? And the knife?"
"You were right."
"Sweet."
Owen rolled his eyes and went to Curt, now just in his boxers. He reached for Curt's shoes first and took them off along with his socks.
Curt just watched him.
He took off Curt's trousers next, expecting Curt to protest, but being met with nothing more than a curious look. He realized he wouldn't get the shirt off thanks to Curt's hands being tied, so cut it off instead.
"Hey, I liked that shirt."
"Too bad." He chucked it onto the floor with the rest of their clothes, then turned off the light.
Curt stayed seated where he was.
"Lie down."
"No."
Owen shoved him onto his back before climbing in beside him.
"Why are you doing this?" He raised his eyebrow.
Owen couldn't think of a suitable answer. He loved Curt? He hated Curt? He wanted Curt to recognize him? He didn't? He had no clue.
"Your face feels weird." Owen had lay his head down on Curt's bare chest. Wearing the mask for four years had made him forget that it didn't feel like human skin.
"Rude."
"It feels like plastic."
"Good skin care routine."
"What? Bathe in the blood of your enemies?"
"Whatever keeps you young." He laughed, and felt Curt's chest rise and fall with laughter of his own. He had missed that feeling. It was like he was at sea, and Curt was the raft keeping him from drowning. He realized then just how lost he had been since he had last seen Curt. He burrowed in closer.
"What's your name?"
"I don't want to tell you."
"Well I can't call you 'Deadliest Man Alive' all the time. Too long."
Owen just laughed.
"Alright then." He gave up. "This is really uncomfortable, by the way."
"Huh?"
"My hands tied. I usually lie with limbs in every direction."
"Then you might run away."
"I won't."
"You seriously expect me to believe that?" Owen laughed again.
"Worth a try."
"Yeah, no."
Curt smiled, and said nothing.
Owen maneuvered so that he lay beside Curt, then stuck his head into the space between Curt's arms so that they were face to face. He slung his arms around Curt's hips, and pulled him in close. It was just how they used to lie. Curt recognized it.
"Bit close, no?"
Owen hummed in response, and buried his head in the crook of Curt's neck. The mask was beginning to annoy him. He wanted to feel Curt's skin on his face.
Curt lifted his hands, and begin to rake one of them through the masks hair. He paused after a couple of strokes. "Your hair feels weird too."
"How so?"
"It feels like horse hair."
"I don't get to wash it often."
"But you have good skincare? Why do one and not the other?"
"Just because."
"Wrong."
"What?"
"No one ever just does one. So you're lying."
"You weren't always this good at interrogation."
"I learnt from one of the best. And how do you know that?"
"Who was the best?"
"None of your business."
"It wasn't your old partner, was it?"
"Huh?"
"Carvour?"
"Don't you say his name."
"You learnt it from him, right?"
"Don't talk about him."
"Why?"
"You don't deserve to."
"You killed him."
"I could strangle you right now."
"No you can't. Not with the way I have you tied up."
"I'll figure it out."
"Like you figured out how to kill Owen?"
Curt lifted his arms to free them from Owen's head, and then slammed them down onto his face, smashing his nose down. A stream of blood began to gush out of his nostrils as Curt stood and made his way to the door. The door was rather strong, and locked, so Owen let him try and mash at it for a while, until his hands were covered in splinters and bruises.
"Coming back to bed, love?"
"Shut the fuck up you absolute bastard."
"You're quite rude, aren't you? Brutish, even."
"Shut up or I'll kill you."
"We've already discovered that that isn't an option, my dear."
"Stop calling me those things."
"What? I can't be kind?"
"You aren't being kind, you prick."
"Neither are you." He stood and went to Curt. He cupped his stubbled face in his hands. "Come back to bed."
"Who are you?"
"You don't need to know."
"You're wearing a mask."
"Why do you say that?"
"It feels like plastic, it's not real hair, and I see the seam of it there on your neck."
"Your observation skills are improved."
"And you know more about me than I do."
"You don't need to know who I am. Not yet."
"Tell me."
"No."
"Alright." He deflated, and allowed Owen to lead him back to bed.
"You'll be good now?"
"Yeah."
"Good." Owen smiled, and sat down beside Curt. "Lie down now, love."
"Alright." Curt moved as if to lie down, but instead grabbed for Owen's mask and tore it off while he was at ease. He dropped the mask, and was frozen in shock.
"That isn't how I wanted to do that." Owen spoke softly after getting over the initial shock. "Surprise."
"You..." He couldn't find any words. "You..."
"Yes, me."
"You died." He was shaking violently.
"Obviously not."
"You did. I saw you die. You're dead."
"I think not."
"So you lied."
"Yes."
"For four years."
"Yes."
"No! No. I'm seeing things." He began to laugh like crazy. Owen was slightly frightened. He had never seen Curt like this before. "I'm seeing things."
"I'm real."
"You're haunting me you fucking dickhead. I know I killed you. I know it's my fault. And you know I'm sorry. I have told you. I didn't mean to. I didn't want you to die. You know that. I love you. You absolute dick. Why won't you just leave me alone?"
"Curt?" Owen spoke softly, now rather scared. Curt was muttering like a madman, tears pooling in his eyes.
"I went to your grave. I went back to find you. You weren't there. 'Cos you were alive? Or buried under rubble? Cynthia found you she said. She buried you. Did she lie too? Was she in on it? In on what? Owen's dead, Curt. You know that. Who tied me up? The deadly guy. Yes. Not Owen. Owen wasn't deadly. It's a hallucination, Curt. That's what mom says. Yes. Mom. Where's she? Home? Yes. I should call her. Phone? I need a phone." He was pacing the floor, and started pulling at cupboards and drawers and boxes looking for something. A phone, Owen guessed. "No phone. No mom. Owen's here. No. He's not."
Owen went to hold onto Curt to try and help him to calm down.
"Don't touch me." He shrieked, shoving Owen backwards into the wall. "You pretend to be Owen. You stole his face. Hallucinations. Everywhere. Withdrawal. That's what this is. Cynthia did this. Drink. I need a drink. Scotch. Whisky. Gin. Vodka. Drink."
"I'll get you a drink, okay? Just sit down." Owen spoke softly, trying to ignore the throb in his head from the crash into the wall.
Curt continued to mutter. Owen went to his small drinks cabinet, and got out a bottle of vodka.
"Curt? Come here and you can have a drink."
"Give me it. I need it."
"You can't use your hands right now. Sit down and you can have some."
Curt frowned.
"Is it my face? You don't like it?"
"Hallucination. Owen's dead."
"What can I do to prove to you that I am real?"
Curt frowned, not knowing the answer. He sat down on the bed.
"Good boy." Owen approached slowly, opening the bottle.
Curt tipped up his throat and waited with his mouth open. He looked like a baby bird.
Owen poured some into his mouth and watched him swallow. They repeated the action a couple of times, before Owen closed the bottle again and set it down on the desk. He returned to where Curt sat, and crouched down in front of him.
Curt watched him carefully.
He reached out and took hold of Curt's hands.
Curt allowed him too.
"Look, Curt, love." He smiled softly. "You can feel my hands. They're warm, aren't they?"
Curt nodded.
"Can you feel hallucinations hands?"
"No."
"So what does that tell you?"
"You're real."
"I'm real." He nodded.
"How could you lie to me?" His voice broke, and he began to cry. "I thought you had died."
"I know." He rubbed circles into the back of Curt's hands with his thumb. "I was angry. I blamed you."
"The hallucinations said you did."
"The hallucinations, huh?"
"I saw you everywhere. And they were all angry at me. Because I killed you. They kept telling me it was all my fault and that they hated me."
"I don't hate you Curt. I was just angry." He found that it was true. "I could never hate you."
"So why lie?"
"I was very angry. I'm sorry, Curt."
"Don't be sorry. I'm sorry. I could have saved you and we could still be happy. It's all my fault."
Owen sat down beside Curt, and lay his head down on the American's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Owen."
"I'm sorry too."
"Don't be-"
"I should have understood that you were scared. I'm glad you got out of there. And I survived it anyway. Maybe if you came back for me you would have died. So really, you did what was best."
"I love you. I still do. I love you so much."
Owen smiled. "I know you do."
"Are you still going to keep me here?"
"Yes."
"Does anyone else know your real name?"
"No."
"So I have to keep calling you Deadliest Man Alive?"
"Exactly."
"I still think that that's a daft name."
"Well, get used to it." Owen laughed. "Come on, lie down now."
Curt did as he was told, and waited for Owen to lay down beside him. Owen lay his head in the gap between Curt's arms again, and slung his arms around Curt's hips.
"I missed you." Curt whispered.
"I missed you too."
He kissed Owen's cheek. Owen kissed him back.