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—KINGSMAN FLEET N247CK—
—V-DAY—
Merlin is a very patient man. He knows this because he is still in Valentine’s hangar when Eggsy finally reappears down the corridor, instead of having long since pulled up the wheels and fucked off to literally anyplace else.
He makes a point of glancing at his watch as the smug little dog trots up the airstairs, severed tie undone and slicked-over hair not fooling anyone.
“Forty-five minutes,” he notes. “I see you must’ve stayed to finish the champagne and strawberries.”
“You been a real mate today Merlin, don’t spoil it.” Eggsy collapses dramatically into one of the upholstered seats, grinning like the cat that not only ate the canary, but several, and then flossed with the hamster.
The first thing Merlin does is stand, hands in his pockets, shaking his head.
“No. Up. Now.”
Eggsy’s grin plummets right the fuck off.
“No, no way. You can’t send me back in there,” he groans. “No one left anyhow. I can’t ’ardly move, that’s it, I’m done for.”
“Not yet, you’re not.” He gives his chin a tilt toward the rear of the plane. “In the back. A phrase you’re familiar with. Go on.”
“…You ’avin’ fun?”
“Not since I finished that Cosmopolitan quiz twenty minutes ago. In case you’re wondering, I’m a September. Now move. You ride home in the back. All the way back there, and I don’t want to hear a peep from you.”
“But—”
“Running around like some frat boy at a kegger,” he admonishes.
“D’you even know what a kegger is?”
“The whole planet’s gone to shit, nearly every major world leader dead, billions of SIM cards to recall and destroy, and billions of dollars’ worth of worldwide property damage, not to mention overflowing hospitals from injuries sustained during the transmission, which Kingsman somehow now has to explain while simultaneously turning an incredibly invasive investigation on itself—and you’re out there thinking with your dick.”
“Brain’s fried. Somethin’ ’ad to drive.”
“So he’s got jokes now, s’that it?”
“I just saved the entire fucking world, all right? Come on! Don’t you think it’s been a bit of a long day?”
“Oh, it’s about to be a long month for you, Galahad. The longest month of your life.” Merlin grabs Eggsy’s shoulder and hauls him out of his seat, physically steering him toward the back. “Now get back there and think long and hard about the differences between a camp James Bond movie and what it means to be a Kingsman.” Then he pulls a piece of chalk out of his cigar pocket. “Take this.”
“Oh, the fuck—”
He presses the chalk into Eggsy’s withdrawing hand before he gets away. “And I want you to write on that back wall, ‘I will not screw royalty’ again and again, as many times as you can make it fit.”
“This is sick. You can’t—”
“Oh, but I can. Until we’re back in the UK, you are, essentially, grounded.”
“Merlin!”
Merlin gives the boy a last good shove and closes the door on him. “Temperance, Eggsy. Spend some quality time with it.” And he coolly returns to the cockpit.
It takes until they’re approaching Scotland for Eggsy to realize the door was never locked.
He comes strolling out, hands in his pockets, offended lower lip protruding, eyes narrow.
“You was hazin’ me the whole time, weren’t you.”
Merlin keeps his eyes on the scanners, but can’t keep a corner of his mouth from twisting upward. “Very good.”
Eggsy juts his chin toward the headset Merlin’s wearing. “’Ow long you an’ Rox been laughin’ at me over that thing?”
“Eighteen minutes.”
“You’re both goin’ to hell.”
“At least it’s warmer than the hangar.”
Merlin reaches forward and flips a few toggles, checking the radar, and all ahead is blue skies. There’s a spectacular view of the sunset from up here. He can feel the tiredness settling into his bones, and he decides to be nice.
“Don’t worry about it, Eggsy. Everyone has a first.”
The boy’s grin creeps back up, and Merlin easily identifies his best ‘It’s okay, you can tell me, it’s just us guys’ tone. “It’s a little bit James Bond, innit. Seducin’ people on the job an’ all? Like princesses, yeah?”
“Like the stripper dancing in the giant martini glass at Prince Harry’s twenty-first birthday party, in the Duke of Kent’s hotel room, accompanied by both of her backup dancers.”
He knows without looking that Eggsy’s eyes have bugged halfway out of his skull. “Shut up. That was you?”
“Mmhm.”
“Fuckin’ chief, Merlin!”
“Far from my wisest judgment, probably by lightyears, but…a gentleman hates to turn down an invitation… The important thing is that you remember you only get one. You use your head from now on and stay away from the high-profiles. Understand?”
“Yeah. I got it.”
Merlin feels him lingering at his shoulder, though, and waits patiently to see what else he wants. It takes a few minutes. When Eggsy’s ready, he speaks much more softly.
“You called me Galahad.”
Merlin nods. “I did, aye.”
“…You mean that?”
He keeps his eyes on the sky, and chooses his answer carefully. “It’s what Harry would’ve wanted.”
“But don’t you have to go through protocol, an’ all that?”
“After what you did today, it’ll be unanimous. And, acting as the interim Arthur, I have the authority to swear you in officially…as it should be. You’ve earned it.” Then he allows himself to turn around, meeting the young man’s eye. “Understood if you decline—”
“I don’t decline.” Eggsy’s nodding right away. “I want it… Yeah. I’m in.”
“Good.”
Eggsy smiles. “Good.”
“Welcome aboard.”
He invites the young man to sit in as co-pilot with a wordless gesture toward the chair, and he accepts. Merlin contents himself with the quiet, leaving Galahad to his thoughts.
After several long minutes, his thoughts produce words. “…Hey, Merlin?”
“Yes Eggsy.”
“…You really think Harry’d be proud, yeah…?”
Merlin nods once, remembering the taste of 1815 Napoleonic brandy. “Harry would be very proud.”
It’s a rather emotional moment, before he hears the little shit’s smirk coming back.
“Of everything, then?”
He sighs so hard that the plane loses altitude, while Galahad folds his hands behind his head. “Eyes forward, Eggsy. You’d better be done crowing before we get back to England.”
“Ain’t fuckin’ likely, ol’ man, ain’t fuckin’ likely.”