When Curt's done panicking, he radios Barb.
He tries to keep his voice clear of the worry and fear that's trying its hardest to kill his speech in his throat, but when Barb asks softly "Is he going to be okay?" he feels his voice break when he's forced to say "I don't know."
It was supposed to be a routine mission. He has no idea how it got this bad.
For context: Curt and Owen were sent on a joint mission, a tail- the two of them collectively have probably done over 60 of them, most of those on their own. But in between the hotel they were booked at and the casino they were headed to, somebody somewhere caught wind of their presence, and next thing Curt knew their tiny European car was being shot at from all sides, and he'd only ducked down just in time to save himself. There was nothing he could have done to stop Owen from getting shot. He'd taken out the attackers and sped himself and Owen to the safehouse a few miles out of town, but by then Owen was already out.
But it's not as bad as it could have been. It was through and through, which means it should be a simple task of keeping it clean and maybe sewing it up if he has to. And Owen has a pulse. He's not dead yet. All Curt has to do is keep his hands from shaking too much and he should be fine. It's not as if Curt has nightmares about this or anything.
Well, not about Owen specifically- he has them about Barb or Cynthia or his mom too. Lately his sleeping mind has been troubled. It hasn't been this bad since he was a teen, and he can't exactly pinpoint the reason why it's worse now than it was. Owen's only one new source of stress on top of all the others he's been dealing with for long enough.
Curt reflects after he's put Owen back together. The two of them are easily the best spies in the business. (That is, at least in the Western business. Curt hasn't had much reason to go up against any Eastern spies.) The two of them have a perfect spot record. He's not entirely certain why his presence would stress him out more- really, it should make things less stressful, more hands meaning lighter work and all. He's made it as far as a worry that Owen will be hurt- which, by the by, explains why he's locked up as badly as he has right now- when Barb radios him asking him when they'll be able to leave the safehouse and catch their flight back to HQ so that Owen can be put back together more professionally, or as Barb calls it, 'medical attention, Curt, what is the matter with you?'
Curt is incapable of giving a good answer. He's rattled- he'll admit that today shook him and in fact still is shaking him. He has no idea where the men that shot his partner came from or who they're working for. The best he has is that they weren't followed to the safe house. He feels awful that the best he can give is that they aren't still in danger. He has no idea when they'll be clear to leave the safehouse. Owen is laid on his back on a bed with bandaging and not-even-halfway-decent needlework holding him together and he cannot do more than wait.
He turns off his radio and leaves himself to the silence of the night.