There's a sickening crack when the butt of the gun Curt hadn't seen smashes into his nose in a quick, brutal attack from an unseen aggressor. He's knocked half on his back, half on his ass from the crouching position he was in, hiding behind the concrete barrier between him and the target- he'd turned around to investigate a noise, is all, and in the time it took him to notice the noise the noise had approached so close he could pistol-whip him in the God damned face, breaking his nose in one hit.
"What the hell," he manages not to yell, instead letting it rush through his teeth in a harsh whisper. The shadowy figure above him aims the gun in between his eyes- Curt squints to try to see his assailant more clearly, but it doesn't do much to help- there isn't much light on this roof (which is, of course, why he picked this spot to watch from, and probably why this stranger with a pistol had come up here as well), and besides that Curt's just been hit in the face with a pistol, which tends to make one a bit unfocused.
The stranger- tall, kinda lanky- squats down and smiles sarcastically, his face coming into view, with his slicked back hair and smug expression. "Great, I can already tell this is going to be a perfect assignment for me. A partner who lets people sneak up on him."
Curt can already tell he isn't going to like this man.
"Are you the MI6 agent?" He asks, still half-trying to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. This shirt is ruined. (Not that that's important, of course that's not important, except that Cynthia is gonna be pissed when she finds out he's ruined another good shirt that she's gonna have to replace.)
See, about a day ago, Curt was sent on a mission to tail a foreign dignitary, but it was impressed on him by Cynthia that it was going to be a joint mission and to not fuck it up 'like he always fucks it up' because Cynthia will 'kill him herself' if he embarrasses himself and by extension the American Secret Service in front of an MI6 agent. Curt was, initially, excited by the prospect of having a partner in the field, but now that his nose has been broken and his shirt irreparably ruined with blood, he's having second thoughts about how excited he is to have an MI6 agent on his side.
"I am. You're the, ah-" He cocks his head to the side, then looks up over Curt's shoulder to watch the target, who's been at this liquor store for hours at this point. Curt thinks that he might have some kind of a problem. "The American Secret Service agent?" He looks Curt up and down, slowly, and Curt feels like he's on exhibit- clearly this MI6 agent doesn't think much of him, which rankles him like not much else tends to.
"The one and only Curt Mega. Now, excuse me, but-" Curt waves past the concrete barrier. "You mind if I get back to my job? There's some very important liquor shopping going on here."
A scoff sounds from the agent now crouched beside him. "Liquor shopping? I thought this was a tail."
Curt narrows his eyes at him and sneers. "It is. Sorry if it isn't an entertaining job." Which, truth be told, it isn't. It's, in fact, so supremely boring that Curt has been occasionally drifting off waiting for something interesting at all to happen, but watching this asshole through the glass windows in the front of the store has given Curt knowledge of nothing but his taste in wine. (He finds it objectionable.)
"Oh, no, that's not it," the agent laughs. "I don't mind a bit of boredom. I just thought they might have picked something more difficult for our first joint mission. Not that this is impossible to fuck up," he says, with a look to Curt's nose. "Did you really not hear me coming up behind you?"
Curt closes his eyes and squeezes his nose. "Can you judge me on my performance after my nose is back in place?"
"Ah, right, I forgot." In a moment, Curt's hand is nudged away from his nose and the MI6 agent's hands replace it, turning his head a bit to see it from a different angle. "This is going to hurt, love."
Curt absolutely does not scream when his nose is forced back into place. He bites down on his tongue and only scrabbles around with his fingers on the concrete a tiny bit, and when he opens his eyes the other agent is still close up, still holding his face. Curt blinks once or twice, instinctively licks some of the blood from his lips. It's not like him to think, but Curt is distracted by the faint reflection of the fluorescents in his eyes.
The agent hurriedly pulls his hands away from Curt's face and coughs discreetly. "Owen Carvour," he introduces himself. "Glad to meet you."