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All Kingsman agents were trained to control their emotions. Emotions were lethal when dealing with the type of work the agents worked with daily.
Hamish, or Merlin as he was known by, was lucky in that department; being a quartermaster meant he rarely found himself in the field. It was easier to shut yourself away from your emotions when you see them through a computer screen. You can pretend they don't exist.
But they do exist, and if you repress them enough, they will resurface.
Agent Genevieve had been assigned a simple bomb defusing mission. As the bomb expert in the Kingsman, she had done them so many times it became almost second nature. She could do it with her eyes closed. She grew confident in her abilities so it was only a matter of time before it had gone wrong.
Merlin had sent her away, thinking she would be home for dinner. He had been making her favourite stew as a surprise, knowing how much comfort food helped after a mission. He had also thought they could watch a movie before retiring to bed together for the night. In all the years they had been together, the simple nights like those had always been his favourite.
The bomb had been simple. A few wires cut and rearranged and (Y/N) was done. She could’ve done it her sleep, so she didn’t pay as much attention to what she was doing as she should have. If she did, she would’ve noticed the small wire leading into the floor. She could’ve diffused that too. She wouldn’t have been in an explosion.
Merlin wouldn’t have had to watch his wife scream out for him before her vitals stopped appearing on his screen and her glasses visuals stopped recording.
And for the first time since becoming Quartermaster, Hamish cried. He went against his training and cried for the loss of his wife, he cried knowing he couldn’t tell her he loved her again, he cried for the loss of their future together.
It took two days for a funeral to be prepared, these things were a lot easier when there was no body to retrieve. Hamish buried and empty coffin under a tree in the Kingsman grounds. Before the grave stood a headstone; he had insisted it say (Y/N) (L/N) instead of Genevieve as he wanted to remember her as his wife not another Agent whose name was lost to history. He refused to lose anymore of her.
But days move past you, and eventually you have to move with them or be lost yourself: time waits for no man. So he continued his job within Kingsman, helping the world stay safe only to return to a cold and empty house.
And everyday he did this until one day it changed.
It was a regular Tuesday when Hamish returned home to find a light on in the window. At first he thought he must of left it on in a rush to leave in the motioning but he knew he didn’t. The light was to the bedroom they had shared; the bedroom he hadn’t been in since the funeral.
Cautiously, he made his way through the house and stopped outside the room. He placed his hand on the knob but couldn’t bring himself to open it. As he went to turn around he heard a voice, the voice he had longed to hear.
“I can hear you lurking.”
Swinging open the door, Hamish made his way into the room. (Y/N) was on the bed thumbing through a book. “You’re dead.”
“Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” (Y/N) stood up and made her way to her trembling husband. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re here, alive.” Hamish said, repeating the information, trying to make it stick in his mind.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come back?” He took her hands in his. “Why didn’t you come back to me?”
“I have now. I’ve come back to you.”
And with those words, Hamish scooped his arms around his wife, determined to never let her go again.