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Begging For You

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Owen was frozen in place, the cool barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead and their intended target staring at him from the other end of it.

They had gotten some bad Intel and there had been more guards than they were expecting. They had still faired well all things considered. Of course nothing less was to be expected coming from the two best spies of their respective countries.

However the time it had taken them to neutralize a few of the extra guards had given their target time to grab a weapon of his own and get in position to point it straight at Owen while the agent had been taking down a particularly burly guard.

He’d had to throw his own weapons to the floor in the hopes of his shooting being delayed long enough to find a way out. The man with the gun is monologuing to him with a smug smile, but Owen doesn’t hear his words. His mind is going a mile a minute trying to find a way out of this situation alive.

Another voice however, does break through his rapid thoughts and register. “Please don’t shoot him.” He recognizes the voice of his partner, though he has never heard it quite like this before. Usually Curt’s voice is, not loud necessarily, but bold. Full of charm and bravado. Boisterous. Right now it is weak and pleading.

His captor turns slightly to look at Curt allowing Owen to see him as well. He is dismayed to see the final standing guard is behind Curt, he was hoping at least his partner would escape this mess. They are a mere foot away from Owen and this criminal. His mind starts working faster as the man in front of him speaks. “What did you just say to me?” The criminals voice has a touch of incredulity to it.

Curt’s face is slightly bruised and bloody but what really draws his attention is his partner’s eyes. They are filled with pure terror. Owen almost winces as that weak voice comes out of Curt’s mouth again. “Please don’t shoot him.” He repeats.

The criminal’s voice still has that touch of incredulity as he speaks again but it is now accompanied by a note of amusement that makes Owen’s blood boil. “Are you begging right now Agent Mega?”

Owen hears the question but dismisses it. That can’t be right. Curt Mega doesn’t beg. Owen has (unfortunately) seen him tortured for information for hours on end and not even give up his name, let alone beg. He can’t possibly be-

Owen’s thought process stutters to a stop as he sees Curt give a shaky nod. He can’t believe it. He tries to meet Curt’s eyes but the other spy is trained on the gun against Owen’s head. Owen is startled slightly by a bark of laughter from the criminal threatening him. His blood boils hotter.

“That’s cute. Keep going. Perhaps it will have more effect on me if you are on your knees.” He suggests, clearly entertained. That is definitely a step too far though. There is no way that Special Agent Curt Mega, self proclaimed and government (grudgingly) acknowledged ‘Best Spy in America’ is going to get down on his knees and beg for a lowlife criminal.

Except he does.

Without any hesitation that Owen can see.

Curt slowly but purposely lowers himself to his knees, hands in the air, and looks up at Owen’s captor. “Please don’t shoot him. Please.” The American agent repeats for the third time.

Another bark of laughter. Owen’s blood reaches what he thinks has to be maximum boiling point, until he sees his captor reach his free hand out and place it on Curt’s face. “Well isn’t this a sight to se-”

He doesn’t get to finish. Owen is a realist. While he is blown away by and appreciative of Curt’s gesture, he doesn’t believe it will make this asshole change his mind about killing Owen. However, it did provide a distraction. As his captor turned and mocked Curt, cupping his face, he dropped his grip on the gun just a tad.

Just enough.

Owen quickly grabs the gun, immediately bringing it up to the guard behind Curt and delivering a shot to the head before the guard can react and harm either one of them. He then pulls his arms back and brings the barrel of the gun crashing down as hard as he possibly can against his former captor’s temple, sending him to the ground, passed out. Unfortunately, their orders were to take him alive.

The shot he fires into the unconscious man’s leg is non-fatal and arguably unnecessary. However Owen feels perfectly justified as he bends down and wraps an arm around Curt’s waist to help pull him up.

The car ride is silent as they deliver their target to their contact, who quickly takes him off to places unknown. Probably to be interrogated before being thrown in some hole to rot, Owen thought with a vindictive satisfaction that he tried not to look too deep into. Just another bad guy stopped by him and his partner. That was all. A successful mission.

As Owen resumes driving, now heading towards their hotel, he finally speaks up. “Thank you.” He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t have to. Curt understands. He sees the American agent nod in acknowledgement in his peripheral vision.

With it being so late their directors both agreed they should stay one more night in the hotel. Treat their wounds (luckily nothing too serious) and get some sleep before packing in the morning to be jetted back to their respective countries.

Owen doesn’t question it when Curt hesitantly crawls into his bed beside him instead of laying down in his own bed across the room. He just shifts to make room for the other and, after a moment of thought, wraps his arms around his partner. There is no complaint or resistance so he relaxes in this new position.

Purely so he doesn’t fall off.

Neither of them speak and Owen eventually hears and feels Curt’s breathing even out, suggesting the American has fallen asleep. Owen stays up, eyes attempting to stay trained on the ceiling, but occasionally glancing down. Body warm and comfortable. Mind futilely willing the night to last a bit longer, just this once.

For some reason, he is really not looking forward to the morning.