Curwen Oneshots Vol. 2

A Funeral And A Little Umbrella

(Set When Spies Is)

"You know I'm right, love."
     "I know nothing of the sort."
     Owen's voice sounded choked, like he was having trouble saying the words. "But I'm always... I'm... Al..."

Curt could hear the conversation as if it were still happening. He could feel the pain as if it had always been a part of him. It hadn't left and he suspected it never would.
     He couldn't imagine anything worse than watching his partner slowly bleed out and die in front of him. That was until he had to sit at the back of the funeral trying not to let on how much he really cared. That was what really destroyed him. He had considered not going. But he couldn't do that to Owen. Or himself. He needed the type of closure that crying in his bed just couldn't give him.
     Their last conversation hadn't helped much either. All that Owen had tried to do was make Curt feel better. He had tried to tell Curt that everything would be okay, that he would be able to move on. But Owen's ability to be right all the time died out just before he did.
     Curt looked down to the front of the church where Owen's mother sat, drying her eyes with a tissue. His father sat, a hand resting on his wife's arm. And Annabelle sat closest to the aisle, an inch too many between her and her father for other guests not to notice.
     Curt had spoken to Annabelle after it happened. He was the one who informed her of her brother's death. It was one of the most heart wrenching moments of his life. He didn't know Annabelle very well - he had only met her a few times - but every time he had seen her she had seemed so upbeat. Seeing her break that night, sobbing as though she would never stop, was like watching the sun be extinguished.
     Once the priest finished speaking, they all walked in a line out into the cemetery. After Owen's coffin had been lowered into the grave and the crowd dispersed, Annabelle approached Curt, standing still for a moment before speaking.
     "I know he would have hated this," she said.
     "Did he even know half these people?"
     "Not since he was about six."
     "Yet here they stand, talking about what a wonderful person he was and how they'll miss him so much."
     "Lying bastards."
     Curt had to laugh.
     "Even our parents... They've barely seen Owen since he was seventeen. Even before then, they didn't know him. They mourned the son they wished for long ago."
     "Speak of the literal devils..." Curt gestured to Annabelle's parents. "I think they want you."
     Annabelle's fists tightened into balls by her sides. "Screw them. Screw all of these people." She walked off toward the entrance.
     "Wait!" Curt ran after her. "What are we doing?"
     "What Owen would have wanted."
     Their eyes locked for a few seconds, then they both walked to Annabelle's car. She drove them to the nearest bar, where they sat in a booth near the back and ordered piña coladas. When the bartender handed them the glasses, not without judgement, Curt stared for a second.
     "Curt? You all right?"
     He kept on staring. Then the image started to distort in front of him as tears formed. Blurry as the world was, the image in his head was clear as day: Owen sitting at the bar, holding a glass with a little umbrella, the judgemental stares effortlessly rolling off of him.
     When the image blurred again, the umbrella disappeared and Curt was staring over Annabelle's shoulder at the floor as she hugged him tightly.
     "I should have done something. I shouldn't have let him-"
     "There's nothing you could have done."
     "I just want him back." Curt's voice was thick with tears. So was Annabelle's.
     "I know. So do I."
     After another minute, Annabelle moved back round to her side of the booth, picking up her glass. "He may not be here anymore, but at least the two of us can remember him as he was. A piña-colada-drinking, arrogant, aggravating, hilarious, ridiculously smart arsehole." Her voice quietened. "And the best brother I could have had."
     Their glasses made a sound like a tiny bell as they collided.
     "He'd have far preferred that to the long-winded eulogies from people he met twice in his life. It's much more accurate."
     "Arsehole or not, I loved him."
     "Me too."
     "So, you wanna drink until we forget this entire shitshow of a day?"
     Curt grinned. "Pretty sure he's said those exact words to me on more than one occasion."
     "Guess great minds think alike."

~

(A/N: Just... I'm sorry.)