#safehouse era owen lives AU my beloved

[chaotic-goodsir]

Your curtwen drabbles get me everytime you write them so well!! Thank you so much for writing them 😭 If you’re up for it, how about 95 for curtwen or lautski

Aw, thank you!! You're absolutely welcome - I've had a lot of fun writing these and I'm glad you enjoyed them! This is maybe not quite what you expected for this prompt, but I hope you like it anyway. It's also the longest so far I think, so uh, so much for drabbles. I really need to learn to write shorter things.

(I went for Curtwen again, because I am predictable 😅)

*

Ms Mega has a plan.

The inspiration first struck couple of days ago. Curtis was away on agency business  - some kind of important meeting - and she was in the living room, sorting through old photo albums. She'd almost forgotten she wasn’t alone in the house when a hesitant voice spoke up from the doorway.

'Um, good morning, Ms Mega. Could I… can I help you with that, at all?'

The voice's owner looked, as usual, in dire need of a decent night's sleep. He leant against the doorway as though it was the only thing keeping him standing, one hand anxiously twisting the tie on that blue plaid dressing gown she’d given him to borrow.

She shuffled over and patted the couch beside her.

‘Well of course! Come and sit down. I was just trying to get these photos organised. You know, I can never get Curtis to help me with things like this. You wait here and I’ll get us some coffee – or tea, if you want?’

Owen sat down like someone half in a dream, picked up an envelope of unsorted photos and stared at it like he wasn't sure exactly what to do.

‘Tea or coffee, honey?’ she asked again.

'Oh, um, tea would be excellent, thank you.'

‘I haven’t started on that envelope yet – how about you have a look through them and we’ll pick the best ones for this album? I’ll be right back.’

When she glanced back from the door as she left, Owen had barely moved. He sat staring straight ahead at the fireplace, absent-mindedly turning the envelope over and over, in a way that made Ms Mega think of her cousin Jack after the Great War. Not for the first time, she found herself worrying about her son's English friend.

By the time she came back with the drinks, he'd at least opened the envelope and was flicking through some of the photos. He paused on one that showed Curtis, aged maybe about twelve, dressed up all fancy with his arm around that lovely girl from next door, whose name she found she couldn’t recall.

'Ah, that's from the dancing competition!' she explained as Owen studied the photo. 'He used to be very good, you know. Takes after his mama.'

'Dancing?'

'Ballroom,' she said proudly. 'He used to love dancing with me when he was little, so I sent him to classes when I could afford it. That girl lived next door to us - she was his partner. They were such good friends. Like peas in a pod. I used to think they might get married one day! Well, I suppose he doesn't do much dancing now, with all the spying and everything. It's a shame. He had a real a talent for it.'

'So you'll want to keep this one, then?' Owen asked, looking at the chaotic pile of albums on the coffee table as though wondering where to start.

'Keep it? Maybe I oughta frame it! Curtis would be so embarrassed to see it again.'

Owen smiled a little at that. He put the photo aside and picked up the mug of hot tea, clasping it tightly in both hands. She couldn't help but notice the mug shaking a little.

'Are you feeling alright, honey?’ she asked, sitting back down beside him.

‘Mm? Yes, sorry. I’m fine. Thank you.’

She’d have thought a secret agent would be a better liar.

‘There’s no need to help me if you’re not feeling so good. You just watch if you like. It’s nice to have someone to talk to. Curtis will tell you, I can talk anyone’s ear off.'

So she carried on with her sorting, and Owen listened while she talked about vacations and school awards and weddings and christenings and relatives he had no reason to be interested in. It was strange - she'd done the same with Tatiana, but as sweet as the Russian girl was, she'd never shown the kind of interest Ms Mega would have expected from her son's future fiancée. Maybe Tati just wasn't the nostalgia type.

Owen, on the other hand - once he finished the tea and relaxed a little - seemed to have a million questions. What did Curt win that award for? (Dancing, again. He and his partner were first in the county!) Where were they in that photo by the sea? (California, the furthest they'd ever travelled before Curtis got his spy job and the house in Guadeloupe). Who was the man in some of the older photos? (Curtis's father. He left when he was a baby, and good riddance. By that time he wasn't a very nice man to be around…)

Something about the interest Owen took in her son’s life only increased Ms Mega’s suspicions – the ones she’d been harbouring ever since Curtis first brought this stray to her door. She knew her son must have his reasons for bringing Owen here, and for jumping through what seemed like endless agency hoops to help him after whatever it was that happened in Europe. Before he left for this particular meeting, he’d asked her to take care of Owen while he was gone - which, of course, she would have done anyway, but there was something in his tone she’d never heard him use for anyone else. Not even for Tati.

Ms Mega is nothing if not both nosy and resourceful, and so, after the photos reminded her of her son's talent for dancing, she started to hatch her plan.

Now, a few days later, she's waiting in the living room holding a record she found in the attic, grinning to herself at her own mischief. She’s pushed the coffee table to one side to make space for a dancefloor, and strategically left the album with the photos from her son’s dancing career open on top of it. Dinner is in the oven, and now all that’s left to set the plan in motion is for Curtis and Owen to return.

Curtis got home last night, and she chased the two of them out of the house this morning with ‘spring cleaning’ as an excuse. Of course they (or, well, Owen) offered to help, but she pushed them out of the door all the same.

'Don't be silly! Now off you go for a walk, or whatever it is you boys do for fun. It'll do you some good to get out of the house.'

Officially, Owen is not supposed to leave the house at all. But a guest in Ms Mega's house lives by Ms Mega's rules - not those of any spy agency, even one that pays the rent.

The boys should be back soon, now. She dusts off the record and sets it on the battered old record player, and once she’s sure it isn’t too scratched to play properly, she starts to dance.

She pretends she doesn’t hear Curt call out as he walks in the door. Best not to look as though any of this was prepared.

Curtis and Owen appear in the doorway just as she's twirling under the arm of an imaginary partner, her skirt and apron spinning. She can tell Owen is politely trying to hide a smirk. Curtis just looks mortified.

'Mom? What are you doing?'

She grins.

'Oh, don't mind me! Just reliving my younger days. Curtis, I found some old photos of when you used to go do dancing lessons with that girl from next door. Do you remember that? She was such a nice girl, what was her name?'

‘…Sadie?’

'That’s it! You know, I was telling Owen the other day what a good dancer you used to be. You had a real talent, ever since you used to dance with me as a baby.'  She grabs his wrist, trying to drag him into a dance with her, but he pulls away, face scarlet.

‘Mom!’

'What? Too embarrassed to dance with your old mother? Jeez. I guess I’ll just go and get dinner ready then. Honestly, a mother can’t have any fun.’

She winks at Owen as she passes him in the doorway, and enjoys the slightly baffled look on his face. Plan stage one: complete.

She tries her best to listen in from the kitchen as she takes the pie out of the oven and prepares the potatoes. The record stops playing abruptly, and for a moment she’s disappointed, but then it starts up again. There’s muffled talking as she sets the table, the sound of Curt groaning in embarrassment and Owen making fun of him. And then - and then - the talking stops altogether.

And that’s her cue to slowly make her way back through the hall, treading as quietly as possible. Little do those boys know, they aren’t the only spies in this household.

She peers around the doorway, and watches silently for a moment.

Plan stage two: success.

Curtis spins his partner around the room, a little shorter than Owen but still managing to lead. It doesn't surprise her that Owen knows how to dance. After all, the Brits have all those fancy pride and prejudice balls, don't they? But she’s proud to see Curtis is clearly the better dancer of the two. Maybe that's a little unfair of her - she knows Owen injured himself quite badly at some point, and that must make things more difficult. But still. Her son is in his element here, maybe more so than when he ever danced with a girl.

Sometimes, Curtis reminds her so much of his father. Before Curtis was born, before Mr Mega started drinking more than he ought to and getting angrier than he ought to afterwards, they used to go out dancing on weekends. As they spun around the dancefloor, she'd look up at the man she would one day marry and feel as if they were the only two people on earth. And she can see that same look in Curtis's eyes now - like nothing in the world could possibly matter more than the person he's dancing with.

Than Owen.

It's really no wonder they haven’t noticed her in the doorway.

Smiling to herself, she slips back behind the doorframe and executes the final stage of her plan.

'Alright you lovebirds, dinner's ready!'

Immediately, there's panic in the living room. Incredibly efficient panic. In the seconds it takes her to round the door, the record has stopped, Owen is sitting on the sofa, and Curtis is leaning against the fireplace, nervously fixing his hair in a way that might look casual to anyone but his own mother.

She wags a finger at him.

'Don't think I didn't see what you were doing, Curtis Mega.'

Her son's eyes go wide. He moves away from the fireplace, raising his arms in defence.

'Mom, I can explain, I -'

‘Did you really think I wouldn’t figure this out? I'm an old woman, not an idiot. Your friend has been here for more than four months now, and a mother notices these things! I mean, really - '

But then she stops, because Curtis is staring at her now with genuine fear, and Owen isn’t looking at her at all, just sitting with his head in his hands. It occurs to her, too late, that the motives for her plan might have been misunderstood. That maybe she should have asked, instead of plotting all this just to surprise them.

But then, if she did ask, would Curtis have been too afraid to tell her the truth?

'Please, Mom,' he says, his voice urgent. 'I know you’re upset, but please, you can't kick him out. Cynthia's trying to arrange something, but that won't be for months yet, and this is the only place where Chi… Look, there are bad people looking for him. Here is the only place that’s safe. And I know we lied and hid this from you, and I know it’s wrong-'

She holds up a hand to shush him, then crosses the room and throws her arms around him, squeezing tight. She pulls away, smoothing down the sleeves of his sweater, and looks up at the boy who used to be small enough to hide behind her skirts.

'Oh, sweetheart, nothing is wrong, and no one is kicking anyone out of anywhere. What kind of mother do you think I am? Owen can stay as long as he needs to. I'm just sad that you two thought you had to keep this from me. But I understand. I do. I shouldn’t have scared you both. And I want you to know you don't have to hide anymore. Okay?'

Curtis looks as though he might cry, so she hugs him again. She thinks for a moment, then fixes him with a stern look.

'I do think you oughta apologise to Tatiana, though.’

There’s a pause as her son frowns down at her, confused. ‘To… Tati?’

‘Of course! Poor thing. She'll be so upset that you have to call off the wedding.'

Somewhere behind her, maybe a little manically, she hears Owen start to laugh.