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For the first time since V-Day, Eggsy finally thought he could stop and take a breath. He was finally done hopping from country to country, putting out fires, and he was promised at least two weeks at home. He had Daisy and Mum away from Dean, even if he was still looking for a place to house them permanently. Mum wanted out of London and he couldn’t say that he blamed her.
Harry was alive and well and a smashing Arthur. Merlin was still the guv. Kay was still terrifyingly competent and no one could convince him that Mordred wasn’t their version of a super villain. All of the surviving agents were home for a well deserved rest.
Eggsy helped plan the party with Harry. Harry let him go as wild with the tacky decorations in the estate’s ballroom. He had everything from Halloween to Christmas decorations to balloons, streamers, and glitter. He ordered the food and volunteered to DJ until he was told that was Lamorak’s domain.
He didn’t see who spiked the punch. Whatever was in it was so smooth and strong that he couldn’t taste it. He got looser and looser and the music got louder and louder. He forgot the posh accent, got rid of his suit jacket and tie, unbuttoned the top of his shirt and his cuffs, and rolled his sleeves up. He jumped out on the dance floor with Roxy and D’Artagnan.
The music and the dancing was glorious and he lost track of how much time he was on the floor. Suddenly, he was too hot. He staggered over to the punch bowl for a re-fill and then dropped into the first empty seat he could find. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, watching the agents dancing. He moved in his seat and sipped his drink. He almost spit it out when he heard Mordred’s voice.
“What is it?”
If Modred’s speech was a touch less precise than usual, Eggsy didn’t notice. He was very discreet (in his mind). He barely glanced at Mordred and Kay sitting on the other side of the table, against the wall. Their attention was firmly on each other and they didn’t seem to notice him.
Kay stared intently at Mordred’s red silk shirt. He held his hand out and his fingers hovered over the fabric. His voice may have slurred. “Your shirt.”
Mordred looked down at himself. “What’s wrong with it?”
Kay gave in and stroked the material. He licked his lips and growled, “It’s still on you.”
Eggsy stomped on the irrational swell of panic. He was calm and cool as he downed the rest of his drink, jumped up, and walked briskly to rejoin the dancers. He didn’t look for Kay and Mordred after that. He most definitely didn’t let out a sigh of relief when they were gone.