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He noticed two things when he finally came to: one, his ribs were sore, and two, his fingers were wet. It took a handful of long seconds for the drunken fuzz in his head to clear enough for the reasons for each of these things to come to light. The first was because he’d fallen asleep on his stomach. Great. The second was… well, he had no answer for that one.
Taking stock was a difficult process with last night’s drunk-brain still going strong but he managed, eventually, to catalogue his current state. His feet were cold but his legs were fine, and he didn’t feel any uncomfortable pinching which told him that he’d at least managed to undress himself before crashing. Points for him. Moving up: sore ribs (well done, dickhead, minus points for that), cold left arm (why the fuck are my fingers wet, seriously), aching neck (because your head’s at a weird angle, muppet).
Something warm and wet tickled his fingers and Eggsy jumped, jerked his hand up and heard a soft whine in response. Oh. That answered that question, then.
Blindly he reached out again and rubbed J.B’s head, scratching behind his ears and sending the dog into spasms of pleasure if the happy growls were anything to go by. It was a startling contrast to the pained groan Eggsy let loose when he finally shifted enough to roll over onto his back. The relief of pressure against his ribs was immediate but it only made him notice the rest of his aching body, heavy and sore from a full night of dancing and getting smashed. He smiled up at the ceiling; God bless, Roxy.
Then JB was bouncing up onto the mattress, paws hitting all the sore places as he wriggled up to start licking his face, and Eggsy’s laugh was pained but fond. “Oi, what you doin’? I’m sleepin’ here!”
But the pug was having none it, snuffling and licking at him until Eggsy got the point, “Alrigh’ alrigh’, fuck, at least let me get up before you start lickin’ me to death.”
It was a struggle but Eggsy gathered enough strength to sit up and swing his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as his stiff lethargic muscles protested. He scrubbed his hands over his face, slapping his cheeks in an effort to wake himself up, giving in to the jaw-cracking yawn that seized him. JB sniffed around his back and Eggsy looked over at the clock on the bedside table, cracking his eyes open to see it. 10:42am. He groaned in dismay and braced his elbows on his knees, fingers kneading the ache at the back of his neck. Too early, it was too early for him to be awake after last night.
His phone beeped. He reached out to grab it from the bedside table and then huffed when it didn’t detach from the charger. “Fuck drunk me, why ‘ave you gotta be so anal about your fuckin’ phone?” He muttered to himself, yanking the phone from the cable and unlocking the screen. It was a text from Roxy.
Thank me later.
Eggsy frowned down at the screen, “Wanna be any more cryptic, Rox?”
Something tugged at his waistband and Eggsy sighed, twisting around to pull JB off him, “Alright, keep yer fur on, will ya?” He grabbed the nearest t-shirt and threw it on, then tucked the dog under his arm and stood from the bed, grimacing with his movements, “Shit, anyone would think we didn’t feed you.”
He pissed and brushed his teeth before heading down stairs. It had taken him months to get used to this house and even now the thought of it caught him off-guard at the oddest moments. He’d grown up in a two room flat in a shitty part of Camden, on an estate that housed everything from pensioners to prostitutes. From the little he’d heard from his mum it hadn’t used to be such a bad area; the flat had been a wedding present from his dad’s family and they’d moved in three months before he was born. He didn’t remember much from back then, all he’d known was drug dealing and gang violence and fucking Dean and his cronies arriving on the scene when he was eight. But it was all he knew and he adapted to survive, making friends and enemies and doing what Dean told him to do to keep the heat off his mum the best he could.
This house existed on a completely different planet; three stories, vaulted ceilings, and more space than they knew what to do with. The typical London townhouse was a Kingsman-owned property - one of several fully-furnished dwellings scattered across the globe - and Merlin had given him the keys the day they’d got back from Valentine’s hide-out. They’d moved in a week later. It had taken his mum a solid month to stop being careful with the furnishings in case the real owners wanted it back, and every time Eggsy reassured her that this was all theirs she’d get this look in her eyes - a mixture of hope and fear, like she wanted to believe him but couldn’t quite be sure if he was telling her the truth.
The smell of bacon hit him as he got to the second landing and the effect on him was instantaneous. Mouth watering, stomach rumbling, Eggsy heaved a heartfelt happy sigh and let the smell guide him the rest of the way down.
“You are a godsend, Mum,” he called out as he hit the bottom stair, turning down the hallway and heading for the kitchen, “I swear to god. I lov-”
The words died on his tongue as he entered the kitchen. Eggsy blinked and could do little more than stand in the open doorway and stare, because it wasn’t his mum at the stove, frying fat rashers of bacon in the pan. It was Harry, and Eggsy was suddenly very glad for the roomy pyjama bottoms he had on because it wasn’t just the bacon that was making his mouth water now. He’d only seen Harry down to his shirt sleeves once before, the day after the train test when he’d opened his office to him, when he’d spent 24 hours with the man and realised that he’d fallen hopelessly in love with him. This was somehow worse, because not only was he down to just his shirt and perfectly pressed trousers, but his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows - precisely, so as not to leave creases in the fabric - leaving his forearms bear, save for the classy watch on one wrist.
Oblivious to Eggsy’s personal crisis, Harry looked over his shoulder and ignored the dumbfounded look Eggsy was giving him, “Ah, you’re awake. Good, I was just getting breakfast ready. Scrambled or fried?”
It took a few seconds for Eggsy to catch up, by which point JB was wriggling in his arms in a valiant effort to get down. “Er,” he stuttered, bending enough to let the pug down, watching him dive straight for his bowl by the back door, “Fried?”
Harry nodded, turned back to the stove, “Good choice. Take a seat, it won’t be long.”
Bewildered, Eggsy did as he was told and sat at the kitchen table. He looked around in confusion, “Where’s mum?”
“She’s taken Daisy for a walk around the park,” Harry answered, cracking eggs into another pan, “Before you ask, no she didn’t see me. I don’t think she’s quite ready for that just yet. I let myself in.”
“But… you don’t have a key,” Eggsy said distantly, only to receive a raised eyebrow in response. “Oh.”
They fell into silence then, the only noise being the sizzling and spitting of bacon and eggs. Harry moved like he did everything else; gracefully, and with an elegance that Eggsy could only dream of possessing. Plates were pulled from the cupboard without fuss, the heat was turned down on the bacon at the exact moment the toaster popped, and butter was spread delicately over four pieces of golden brown bread just as the eggs were finished cooking. No panic, no stress. As easy as tying his shoelaces. Eggsy watched the curious dance in a stupefied daze, blinking when the plate was set neatly in front of him on the wicker place mat his Mum had bought from Selfridges.
“Em. Thanks?” he ventured, still completely unsure of what the hell was going on. Harry just smiled at him and picked up his cutlery, tucking in to his own meal. Unable to resist the calls of his stomach, Eggsy did the same.
It wasn’t until the third bite - and god the bacon was done exactly how he liked it how did he know - that he remembered what had happened the last time he’d seen Harry. Toast crumbs scratched his throat as he tried his best not to choke, coughing with wide eyes to clear it and ignoring the concerned look Harry was throwing him from his corner of the table. His face heated; oh god, he’d… and now he was sat eating breakfast with him in his kitchen like nothing was out of the ordinary, like he hadn’t grabbed the man and angrily kissed him in the gym.
“Are you alright, Eggsy?”
He nodded quickly, allowing himself one furtive glance before returning his attention back to his food, “Yeah, yeah. Just got stuck that’s all,” he blagged, then nervously added, “Um, why’re you here? I mean, thanks. For the breakfast, like. But why?”
There was a pause before he spoke, “I thought we should finish our conversation. There are a number of things we need to discuss, the most important being what happened that day at the church.”
Eggsy swallowed slowly and tried to block the images associated with his words out of his mind. “I know what happened,” he said, keeping his eyes on the table, “Valentine shot you, you survived… somehow.”
“How do you think I survived, Eggsy?”
The question made him frown up at Harry, who regarded him with an almost blank look on his face, head tilted slightly to one side. “What?”
“How do you think I survived?”
What sort of question was that? Eggsy shook his head, “I don’t… He shot you, I saw it on the feed. Your glasses were-” he cut himself off, not wanting to say it. They were covered in blood, rivers of it. He shook his head to rid himself of the image.
Harry placed his knife and fork down on his plate and rose, plucking two mugs from the mug tree on the counter and clicking the kettle on. “You saw what you needed to see,” he said, with his back to Eggsy, hands confident in his search for tea bags and sugar, “It was a ploy. I rigged it.”
He blinked, “You… what? But I saw-”
“Misdirection and trickery.” Having distributed tea bags and sugar between the two mugs as required, he turned and leaned back against the counter, back ramrod straight, “You saw a blank and fake blood. I… convinced one of the henchmen to load blanks into Valentine’s gun. It was easy to rig a squib and make it look real enough to keep him from checking on me. His squeamish nature was well known.”
Eggsy sat back, breakfast forgotten, and let the new information sink in. “Why all that trouble, though?” he wondered, “Why do that when you could have just told me the plan?”
Harry watched him, silent, then answered honestly, “There were two reasons: the first was because I knew Chester was dirty and I needed to figure out whether his influence had had an effect on the Society. It turns out I was right. I tracked down several key players in our ranks who’d shared the same views but had not been stupid enough to agree to the chip.” The kettle clicked off the boil and Harry turned to make the tea, “Over the course of my… unfortunate demise, shall we say, I’ve disabled each one and made sure that any potential leaks were filled.”
Eggsy watched, waited. “And the second?”
The other man turned with the two mugs in his hands, set both down and took his seat, “You needed a push.” He said, sipping his tea and pinning him with his gaze over the rim of his mug, “You couldn’t shoot the dog, which left Roxy the last candidate standing. Roxy is a fine woman and will become an even better agent, but you, Eggsy, have an innate talent and insatiable drive that I’ve only ever seen in one person before.”
Eggsy swallowed. His father.
“You are a Kingsman. The only place you were ever meant to be is right here.”
With you, Eggsy thought immediately.
Harry took another sip and set his mug down, “I knew that you’d figure out what was going on with Chester so I left that in your capable hands, knowing that you’d take him down one way or another. I had a full report from Merlin when I made my position known to him. Well done, very well played.”
Pride warmed his insides and he grinned sheepishly down at the table, “Thanks.”
Harry nodded slowly, “Which brings me to the other reason why I’m here. Your most recent mission.”
Eggsy felt his heart sink. The pride faded and left him with cold sinking dread; he had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a fun conversation. He picked up his mug and gulped the hot liquid, “What about it?”
Harry picked up a slice of toast and delicately bit into it, chewing carefully. “You’ve yet to be properly debriefed. The last time we met, you thought the best course of action was to aim a gun at me.”
Eggsy had the grace to look embarrassed and he reached up to rub his neck, “What else was I meant to do? You’d just come back from the dead, it was a gut reaction.”
A single amused eyebrow arched, “Quite.” But the amusement turned serious in the blink of an eye and Eggsy barely resisted the urge to gulp under the man’s undivided attention. “I’m aware of the fact that you currently cannot remember that night and I’m hesitant to give you too much detail in case it sets you back.”
Frustration clawed at his gut, “In case I go mental and start screamin’ the place down, you mean.”
There was a split second when something dark flickered in the brown eyes regarding him from across the table, but it was there and gone before Eggsy could analyze it.
“Yes.” He said shortly, giving him no more than that before continuing with his brief, “The man you met that night is called The Chemist. He’s a scientific genius on such a level that even the word ‘genius’ is too simple for him. His work in chemical and biological engineering is beyond anything the world has ever seen before, and at last count, he was directly responsible for the deaths of five hundred and sixty two people.”
Eggsy whistled low through his teeth, “Fuckin’ hell.”
“He’s a legend in most circles, a myth in others. His body count is the only solid evidence we have that the man exists, the rest is smoke and mirrors. We know nothing of the man except his work, his signature if you will. Simply put the man is a ghost. He’s gone to great lengths to keep his identity hidden and for nearly fifteen years the man has been selling his services to the highest bidder, dealing in death and warfare across the globe while hiding in plain sight.”
“So you’re sayin’ I met this guy that night,” Eggsy said slowly, piecing it together as much as the blanks in his mind would allow, “I saw him and I don’t remember.”
Harry took a breath, “To give you a brief overview, we tracked him down to the nightclub in Soho and Merlin sent you and Roxy in to gather Intel on the cell we assumed he was part of. At that point, we only knew him as a link to that cell. The mission was for Roxy to seduce him, but…” Harry trailed off, shifted a little, but his gaze remained steady on Eggsy, “You seduced him instead.”
Eggsy blinked, then laughed, “You serious?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “We have video footage from Roxy’s contact lenses, following you both to the exit. That’s when things take a turn.”
“I don’t get you.”
“Once you leave the club with him, we’re blind.” Harry explained, “You’d taken your glasses off so that feed was no longer running and we were relying on Roxy instead. When she followed you a few moments later you were already moving away, and by the time she caught up to you the location chip cut out. You were gone.” His jaw tightened the merest fraction, “The next time we saw you was four hours later through your glasses feed, lying on the floor of some hotel room, beaten to a fucking pulp.”
The curse would have made him smirk if his brain wasn’t already focusing on other things. “He gave me something, didn’t he? To make me go…” he circled his finger close to his temple and Harry nodded slowly.
“It’s connected to the memory centres of your brain and forcefully disables you when you remember anything regarding that night. Effectively he’s given you a self-destruct button to keep any information about him from getting into the wrong hands. Our hands. That’s how we realised who he was. All of his chemical compounds carry his hallmarks, his calling card. There’s a team of medics working on reverse engineering it but they’ve had no luck so far as the chemicals just break down before they can test it.”
The kitchen was silent save for the distant tinkling of JB’s collar as he padded around the house. Eggsy digested the information, let it sink in and rattle around in the blank void that was supposed to house the memories they were talking about. He glanced up at Harry, who was watching him carefully from across the table, not giving anything away.
“What do you need me to do?”
But Harry continued to stare, and just as Eggsy thought he’d have to repeat himself, he said in a soft voice, “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” He said, immediately and without giving the question a second thought.
Harry’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit, “You didn’t even think about it.”
“Didn’t need to,” Eggsy shrugged, and he found that his answer was true. Despite the lies, despite the hurt his actions caused him, Harry was still Harry, and he’d trust the man with his life and beyond. Always. “What do you need me to do?”
The other man’s lips curved into the smallest of smiles, but the expression was far from a happy one, Eggsy realised. Resigned seemed like a better word. He unfolded himself from the chair and stood, brushing crumbs delicately from his trousers and unrolling his shirt sleeves.
“Tomorrow,” he said, retrieving his suit jacket from the back of the chair and sliding into it with well practised movements. Eggsy couldn’t help the voice in the back of his mind that wished he was taking it off again, “Come by the shop. I’ll explain more when you’re not recovering from a hangover.”
Eggsy kicked back in his chair and grinned, “That was Roxy’s idea, blame her.”
Something flickered in Harry’s eyes then, not dark like before; almost playful, if you could consider someone like Harry Hart to be playful. Those eyes regarded him from behind black framed glasses as he straightened his cuffs, replaced the cufflinks expertly, fastened the buttons on his jacket. “Ah yes.” He said, “That reminds me.”
Long fingers slid into his hair, gripped, and Eggsy didn’t even have time to question what the hell he was doing before his shit-eating grin was replaced by Harry’s mouth. Shock widened his eyes, quickened his pulse, and Eggsy could do little more than reach out and grab the first solid thing his hands could find to keep him from falling, and since the first thing his hands could find was Harry himself, he didn’t think it helped much.
Then his mouth was gone, but only so far as a couple of inches. Warm, sweet breath fanned across his lips, chased by a bold thumb rubbing along the same path, and Eggsy was dizzy and hot and questioning everything and wanting nothing more than to have Harry kiss him again.
“Next time,” Harry said, voice ragged and quiet, “I suggest you punch me.”
And then he was gone, leaving Eggsy stunned and dazed at the kitchen table. He didn’t even get up when he heard the door close.
The quiet jingling from before got louder and Eggsy blinked down at JB as he sat at his feet, head cocked as he looked up at his master. Unable to think of anything else to say, he uttered two words to the confused dog and sat in numb silence.
“The fuck?”