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“Eat.”
The order was direct, not unlike the man who delivered it; a man who was currently waving something in front of his face. It took a moment for Harry’s eyes to adjust, refocusing in the dim light until he could see that the ‘something’ that had brought him sharply out of his thoughts was a small plate with some kind of sandwich on it.
“What… is that?”
The look he got in return would have been enough to make a lesser man cower. Harry had seen it too many times for it to have the intended effect.
“Caviar.” Merlin said bluntly. “What’s it look like?”
Harry wisely didn’t answer and took the offered plate. He peered at the sandwich - brown bread and some kind of reformed meat that he assumed had once resembled a pig - and then balanced it on the ledge of the mezzanine that surrounded him. His stomach protested but he ignored it, instead turning his gaze back to the large bank of screens that dominated the room below.
Hours of CCTV footage from across the globe played across screens that spread and filled the infinite walls of the Command Centre. Text from transcripts and case files spidered and crawled along monitors on desks manned by the Technicians and Analysts that made up the support function of their Kingsman network; people who had filled the room with chatter and noise as they conferred in their shorthand tech-speak that Harry only half remembered from his early days. He glanced around now on the realisation that the voices had long ago faded and had been replaced by the soft beeps and pings of running software. Only a handful of people remained scattered about the large room.
Hours of standing, sitting, pacing back and forth and watching for anything that would give them the answer to where they’d taken his… where they’d taken Eggsy.
And nothing.
“There’s talk amongst the ranks.”
Harry turned. Merlin gazed out at the room below; leaning against the ledge with one foot up on the railing, a glass of what Harry assumed was scotch swirling between his fingers. He’d lost his customary jumper and was down to his shirt; cuffs unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up past elbows haphazardly. Even his tie was gone; something Merlin very rarely went without whilst on Kingsman ground. It comforted Harry, knowing that Merlin looked about as good as Harry felt.
“Idle chat doesn’t concern me.”
That prompted a scoff. “Maybe it should. They’re saying that you’re favouring the new Galahad.”
Harry’s eyebrows twitched, “Are they indeed? And what was your response.”
“Of course I told them that if they wanted to ask you about it personally I could arrange it for them, otherwise they should shut up and get back to work.”
A ghost of a smile lifted the corner of Harry’s lips. “Subtle, as always.”
Merlin smirked and lifted his scotch in mock salute before taking a drink. Harry huffed a laugh and turned back to the room below. While the hive of activity had died down now, the constant parade of information continued. Maps and coordinates displayed on screens, faces of the most wanted flashed every so often, their location and current dealings reading like a who’s who of the criminal underworld.
But still no trace of their primary target.
“It got me thinking, though.”
When Merlin didn’t elaborate, Harry threw him a glance, “On?”
“On whether it would be different if, say, it was Tristan.” He took another sip and held Harry’s gaze, “Would you still be here, pouring over every tiny detail to try and find him?”
“Of course I would,” was his immediate response, but something niggled even as he said the words. “I would do exactly the same for any of my agents.”
And that voice in his mind said Would you?
Merlin’s brow arched. “We both know Eggsy isn’t just ‘any’ agent.”
The denial was instant but didn’t make it out of his mouth. Harry had had Proposals before. Some had made it through training and graduated as Kingsman agents, others had not, but despite his own training he’d forged friendships with all of them. Kingsman had taught him how to manipulate and use emotions when the situation called for it, but he’d never quite been able to turn off the part of him that enjoyed the connection to other human beings.
But Eggsy was… something else. Something that got under his skin and made him itch and want more than simple human connection. Something that terrified and excited Harry simultaneously.
Diverting his thoughts sharply away from that particular avenue, Harry brushed off Merlin’s concern with a non-committal wave, “I would do all that was in my power to retrieve any Agent in trouble; this is no different.”
Merlin didn’t respond for a moment, nor did he look away from Harry when he spoke. He took another sip of his scotch and said at length, “I wonder if you’re too emotionally involved.”
He stilled. The words, and the tone in which they were delivered - that soft, knowing tone that royally pissed Harry off at the best of times - caused him to tense. He kept his own deliberately measured when he replied, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“When was the last time you went to bed?”
Harry’s eyebrows lifted in sarcastic surprise at the non sequitur, resentment on his tongue when he shot back, “Well, I’m flattered, Hamish, but I only see you as a friend.”
All pretense dropped from the Scotsman's face then, aggravation settling over his features like a well-worn coat.
“Oh fuck off, Harry, don’t give me that.” He threw back the rest of his scotch and set the glass heavily onto the ledge as he pushed away to stand, frustration in every line. “I mean it, you’ve barely slept, you’re working round the clock; I don’t think I’ve seen you leave to go home for a week now.”
Harry bristled, “I don’t see you faring any better.”
“Christakes, this?” He gestured at himself, “This is part of the job, Harry; to keep track of our agents. So when we lose one I tend to get a bit singled-minded until they are found again, which usually means I lose the fuckin’ tie. That’s my job.”
Harry drew himself up straighter in the face of the underlying accusation, “If you’re questioning whether I can do mine-”
“Don’t start. I’m not some snotty unseasoned agent who’s going to quake in their boots, so there’s no need for that tone.” Merlin retorted bitterly. “I’m merely questioning if running yourself into the ground is the wisest course of action here.”
“What would you have me do, sit on my thumbs and whistle?”
“No, I want you to find the bastard who took him and shoot him in the bloody bollocks, but I’d rather you were on top form when you did it; not falling down half dead from exhaustion and hunger!”
Harry sneered, unable to ignore the hit to his pride. “Kandahar, 1986. Dehydrated, exhausted, kept in an underground bunker for eight days and still managed to bring down an entire smuggling ring and complete the mission.”
Merlin’s eyes narrowed, frustration shimmering into irritation. “Oh, aye, I remember.” he said dangerously, “I remember how you almost came home in a body bag because you were a cock-sure fucking idiot who couldn’t let it go. You know what else I remember, Harry?” He stalked closer, until they were practically nose to nose, “I remember being on the other end of that line with you and getting you out alive. So if you want a pissing contest, you go right ahead; but be very careful where you aim your dick.”
They stared each other down, fire against fire, will against will. Tension thrummed between them. It wasn’t the first time they’d locked horns and it wouldn’t be the last, but somewhere in Harry’s gut he knew that this wasn’t one he was going to win. On an irritated hiss, he stepped back.
“You’re right. I hate it, but you’re right. I apologise.”
Merlin inclined his head in acceptance. Without another word he moved towards the door that led back out into the main complex, and Harry’s guilt was a sour taste in the back of his throat. But instead of leaving as Harry expected, Merlin instead reached down and plucked up a bottle of scotch and another glass that had been sitting by the side of the door. Strolling back, he unscrewed the cap and poured two fingers of scotch into the two glasses, sliding the fresh one over to Harry as a peace offering.
“Let me ask you something,” he said eventually. “What makes Eggsy a good Kingsman agent?”
Harry took the glass with a small frown, “You know why.”
“Humor me.”
He took a moment, turning the glass back and forth in his hands, before he answered. “He’s intelligent, ambitious. His background gives him a unique perspective on how to tackle dangerous situations; he’s creative and adapts well.” His lips twitched a little, “Very well.”
“Hmm. So you’d say he could handle himself in any given situation?”
Harry gave him a side-long glance, then sipped at the scotch, relishing the burn. “Obviously.”
“So let him handle himself, Harry.” Merlin said gently, fire and fury banked in favour of concern tinged with frustration. “He’s Kingsman, now; he’s a damn fine agent and you’ve trained him well, but this is his life just as it is ours. We have to trust him to hold his own until we can get to him.” He patted Harry’s shoulder, "I’m not saying give up. Just breathe for a moment. We’ll find him.”
Harry narrowed his eyes at his friend, “You’re really fucking annoying when you're right.”
A smirk pulled at Merlin’s mouth, “I know.”
The hesitant throat-clearing from below them made them both turn. A woman in a neat pink shirt looked up, glanced between them once, before settling on Harry. “Sir. The reports you requested are ready.” She gestured with the pad in her hand, “You wanted them delivered to you.”
He couldn’t remember what reports he’d requested, or the woman’s name, and that was further evidence that Merlin was right.
Bloody git.
“Have them sent to me. I’ll pick them up in the morning.”
She nodded briskly and moved away. Harry heard the clink of bottle against glass and turned to watch Merlin carry both towards the door.
“Go home, Harry. Get some sleep.”
He smirked at his friend’s retreating back, necking the last of the scotch and feeling it warm him. “Yes, dear.”
The Scotsman didn’t turn back but did flick him the ‘v’ with his free hand, making Harry huff a laugh from behind his glass.
“And eat the damn sandwich!”
When the door closed, Harry glanced at the forgotten sandwich on the plate beside him. With a sigh he picked up one half and started to eat.
“Yes, dear,” he muttered to no-one in particular.