Work Header

Chapter Text

“So, I don’t… actually have a plan…”

Owen sighed deeply. Of course.

“Let me finish!” Curt protested, “I don’t have a plan, but I have many, many ideas.”

“Yes, love, but we still need a plan.”

“I’m getting there. What we need, first of all, is backup.”

Owen cocked his brow: “Backup from who ? We’re rogues, remember?”

Curt grinned.


What were you thinking ??”

Owen almost flinched, no longer used to the high-pitched nightmare that was Barbara Larvernor’s voice when she was angry. Or panicked. It was unclear. Curt didn’t seem as affected.

“You missed me too, Barb.” he smiled.

I- We’ve all been worried sick, Curt! We thought you two were dead!!

“Have they been looking for us?” asked Owen, leaning in so Barb could hear him. She went silent for a while, then made a non-committal noise.

Owen’s face darkened: “They haven’t, have they?”

“I have! ” Barb whined, “ Me, and some others. But the higher-ups…

“I told you.” Owen murmured, earning a harsh glare from his partner.

Curt leaned into the watch again: “We’re alive. And mostly fine. But we’ve got info, and we need help. You still in Boston?”

I’m staying in Ant Arbor. I was… ” she paused, “ I was still looking for you. Where are you?

The two exchanged a look.

“I’ll send you some coordinates.” said Curt, “And you can meet us there.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end. Barb sighs.

Alright. Be safe, agents .”

The call disconnected. 

“This is a risk.” Owen murmured.

“Eh. She’s trustworthy. Believe me.” 

“It doesn’t matter. This is risky.” he said, biting his lip. 

Curt shook his head with a smile: “This is fine. This is going to be fine. And if it isn’t…”

He trailed off. His eyes became unfocused for a moment, and his mouth hung only slightly open. It was like his consciousness was in a different dimension. Maybe it was. Owen waited, but he didn’t finish. So he squeezed Curt’s hand, watching his eyes finally spark with recognition.


“Curt, love?”


“You with me?”

Curt blinked a couple times.

"Yes." he concluded.

"Good. Now, Barb won't be here until tomorrow at least."

"Yes." Curt repeated, nodding pensively.

"So what we should do is start to make a plan."

“Yes.” Curt grinned: “Operation Bellerophon is a go.”


Curt had not been joking when he'd talked about lots of kidnapping.

They had conflicting ideas on who their first victim should be. Curt said Damon, Owen said Hope. 

"Why her, though? When did you talk to her?" Curt furrowed his brow. 

Owen sighed deeply: "When you were unconscious. And you heard Henri. She's an active hostage and she hasn't been touched yet. She's in more danger."

"I don't think so." Curt shook his head, "Henri also said that her girlfriend is a killing machine who has never given the higher-ups reason to punish her. Whereas Henri has multiple infractions. Maybe they don't know he's been kidnapped."

"They have cameras, Curt."

"Which is another thing we need to worry about."

“Yes, I know. They’re going to have better security.” Owen scratched the beginning of a stubble on his chin, “How are we going to go about that?”


“Do you have a death wish, Curt?”

“Not at this moment, no.”

Owen sighed wearily. He’d known from the beginning that an attack on Chimera would mean a truly frustrating amount of brainstorming, but he hadn’t anticipated so much kidnapping would be involved. And they still needed more info on their targets.

They came to the same conclusion as usual.

In the words of a gal they'd met in a very improper bar, why not both?  


The assumption that there would be stronger security at the medical facility following Henri's disappearance was, surprise surprise, correct. There were at least three or four more guards compared to the last time they’d been there.

But Chimera appeared to be woefully unprepared for the greatest spies in the world, and two of those guards were out like a light before they knew what had hit them. Poor chaps. In addition to the awful lack of personnel, the cameras were so terribly easy to disable.

Essentially, Chimera had failed to account for their skills.

But Curt and Owen had failed to account for their agents.

When they quietly broke into the reception, they found Hope there, as expected, sorting through a pile of papers on her desk. She seemed completely absorbed by her work. Her eyes scanned the papers quickly, and with practiced ease she separated them, putting them in one drawer or the other and keeping a small pile on her desk.

On the monitor in front of her, the footage from the night of their escape played on repeat. 

Occasionally, she looked up and frowned. 

Curt’s steps were feather-light as he snuck up behind her. Owen frowned. He would not have cared for that plan if not for Curt’s promise that it would work.

Hope squealed in surprise when Curt pressed the rag against her face. She tried to elbow him, but the back of her chair stopped her. Not to be deterred, she kicked at her desk. Curt cursed under his breath, dragging the chair back with her to stop her from making too much noise.

Owen felt something die when she stopped moving. 

Curt shoved the rag back in his pocket with a heavy sigh: “She could’ve been trouble. Help me carry her.”

Owen didn’t have time to answer. The familiar click of a gun’s safety coming off froze the blood in his veins and froze Curt where he stood when the barrel of the gun came to rest against his temple.

“Step away from her.” said the woman holding the gun, coldly. 

She met Owen’s eyes and he almost gasped. Hazel, almost golden. A hint of green. Clearly an agent. And the way she glanced at Hope spoke loud and clear.

“Miss Camille, I assume.” he murmured. The woman frowned, and the jagged scar on her pale cheek curved with the curve of her lips. 

“That is correct.” she admitted.

Thank God for the no secrets policy .

“Step away from her.” she repeated, pressing the gun harder against Curt’s temple. Curt didn’t seem nearly as terrified as he should’ve been. He was smiling , and Owen decided then and there that if Camille didn’t kill him, he would. 

Still, Curt took a docile step back. 

And then immediately spun around to punch Camille in the temple.

She blocked it with ease. She threw Curt’s arm to the side and tackled him away from Hope, burying her shoulder in his stomach, which had to hurt. He staggered back, but managed to grab her wrists. When he tried to pin her against the wall, though, she took the opportunity to knee him in the gut a second time and Curt just barely managed to hold on. 

“Shit-” he spat, “Shit- she’s good- Owen!!”

Owen almost rolled his eyes. Until he saw the knife. 


Camille dropped the knife and collapsed against the wall.

Owen put the gun away.