Chapter Text
The first time Curt gets hurt out on a mission with Owen is about six months into their pseudo-partnership.
They weren’t officially partners, they were from different agencies that couldn’t seem to make up their mind on if they liked each other or not. But the pair kept being sent out on the same missions over and over and Owen had eventually gotten fed up with Curt taking over every mission and stealing his credit . So they had struck up a personal deal: If they ever found themselves assigned the same case, they’d just work on it together. Two heads were better than one after all.
And as much as Owen loathes to admit it, Curt was a pretty damn good spy, even if he was reckless as hell. So he’d prefer to have the A.S.S.’s best agent on his side. It also helped that the MI6 stopped berating him everytime Curt stole a mission from him.
Owen also trusted Curt, even if he was worried that Curt’s brash last minute ideas and carelessness was going to get him killed one day. The guy had saved his life countless times by now, so Owen sort of had to trust him.
Their current mission had been simple. A simple extraction mission. They were to go undercover at a business party, sneak into the office of the business’ CEO and extract the trade information files he had hidden in his desk.
They had snuck into the office easily enough, no one had even acknowledged Owen’s existence because he had blended in so well and Curt had dressed to the nines and everyone had assumed he was a CEO as well, so no one questioned their absences.
Owen had grabbed the file when the bodyguards crashed into the room and began firing their guns before Owen could even blink.
Curt’s instincts were faster than Owen’s, tackling the man to the floor, behind the desk to shield themselves from the gunfire.
They were able to take out their own guns then and take all the guys out before fleeing through the fire escape.
They’d gotten all the way to their getaway vehicle when Owen finally noticed how Curt had been holding his side.
“Fuck, Mega, did you get shot?” Owen asked and Curt looked down at his stomach. He leaned away so Owen couldn’t get a good look at it as they drove back to their hotel.
“It was just a small graze.” Curt lied and Owen’s eyes darted to Curt’s stomach. He can’t see the wound itself, but Curt’s entire suit is white, so it makes it exceptionally easy to see the large mess of blood covering the front. He looked almost like his entire stomach had been ripped apart with how much blood there was smeared around.
The sight makes Owen’s eyes widen a fraction and his heart races a little out of worry. He swallowed thickly, turning back to keep his eyes on the road.
“You’re a shit liar.” Owen informed instead of saying anything else and stepped on the gas.
They have to sneak up to their room, lest they notify security or anyone else about Curt’s wound and the moment they got upstairs, Owen forced Curt to sit down, tearing off his shirt to get a better look at the gunshot.
“Damn Carvour.” Curt said, breathless and wheezing as he leaned back in his seat tiredly, almost limp and Owen forced himself not to focus on what that meant. “If I knew this was all it took to get you to rip my clothes off, I would’ve gotten shot ages ago.”
Owen gives him a sharp glare at that and leaves his side for two seconds to grab the medical kit.
The medical kit wasn’t a standard first aid kit you’d find at a supermarket, this was a CIA issued med pack that would carry any life saving essentials a spy may need out on the field. The MI6 had never sent Owen out with medical supplies, just a pat on the back and a don’t fuck it up .
The med pack had started making frequent appearances during missions with Curt though, the other agent giving him a boyish grin and telling him Cynthia insisted he take it with him. Something about how she didn’t want her best agent dying out on the field cause of an infection from a cut.
Small things like that made Owen jealous. Jealous of the way Curt was treated better by his agency, by the way they cared. Curt and Owen were both their agencies best agents, but you’d never be able to tell the MI6 even gave a shit about Owen when he stood next to Curt. Curt and his special A.S.S. treatment.
Owen shakes his head, pushing the thoughts out of his head as he focused on the issue at hand. Curt was injured, Owen needed to fix him up.
He quickly rummaged about, grabbing out medical tongs to pull out the bullet, and then sutures and a curved needle to sew Curt up.
Owen is busy trying to sterilise everything when Curt suddenly gagged loudly. Owen looked up, confused and found Curt now pointedly staring at the ceiling, his non-bloodied hand covering his mouth.
“You sick, Mega?” Owen asked as he began to quickly clean Curt’s wound up, spraying it with antiseptic so it wouldn’t get infected. Curt winced and shook his head.
“I can’t stand the sight of my blood.” Curt said and he sounded suddenly so much worse than he had mere minutes ago and Owen forced himself to work quickly. He’d be damned if Curt died because Owen hadn’t been paying attention, Cynthia may forgive him but the MI6 would kill him for getting another Agent killed.
“You’ve seen blood before,” Owen pointed out. “You’ve seen injuries worse than a little gun shot on the field, why is this so different?”
Owen began to gently dig into his wound to pull out the bullet, causing Curt to let out a pained cry that strikes deep into Owen’s chest. He chooses to ignore the feeling and doesn’t apologise for it as he placed the small object on the floor, then picked up the needle to sew the wound closed. It wasn’t big, at most would take three stitches, probably could heal even without them, but Owen had learned it’s better to be careful than careless, especially in their field.
Curt flinched as Owen began to push the needle into his skin with no warning and he glared at the British spy. Owen gave him a teasing grin as he continued to work and Curt sighed heavily.
“It’s easier to not care when it’s other people,” Curt said as he looked back up. “My blood is supposed to be inside me. I don’t like when it’s not, it’s gross and awful. And ever since I-” He gagged again, more abruptly this time, as he thought about it and this time genuinely sounded like he might throw up. “I hate it, so just stop talking about it. Please.”
In an uncharacteristic show of empathy, Owen decided he would stop talking about it. In his head, he decided it was just to get Curt to stop gagging and whining about it, in his heart, he knew there was a different reason he didn’t dare touch upon.
Owen fixed Curt up as fast as he could, cleaning everything once more and then carefully bandaging over.
“Okay, you should be good now.” Owen said. “That’ll heal up nice.”
“Just like every other scar.” Curt groaned and it’s then that Owen’s eyes carefully roam over Curt’s bare chest, noting all the small and large scars he’s amassed over the years. He seemed almost like a human pin cushion.
Scars were unavoidable in their field, especially since they were both their best. But Owen only harbored a few scars along his entire body. Meanwhile Curt had almost five times his scars just littered across his chest. It makes Owen furrow his brows a little, and he wants to ask, but he bites his tongue.
Curt sat up slowly and groaned. “Thanks.”
Owen turned away quickly, keeping his face emotionless as he put everything back away. He’d worry about disinfecting it all later.
“Can’t have you bleeding out on me.” Owen said, and it’s a cover. Curt wouldn’t bleed out, his wound hadn’t been even bleeding that much by the time Owen got to fixing him up, the bullet hadn’t hit any major organs or anything, Curt could’ve survived until their pickup in the morning, albeit very uncomfortably.
Luckily for Owen, Curt doesn’t point any of this out. Simply smiled and flopped down onto one of the twin mattresses.
“Well thanks anyway, Cavour.” Curt said and Owen finds himself smiling softly back at him subconsciously.