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The Kingsman tech labs, whether at home or abroad, are peerless. Any request you submit to them, no matter how stupid or impossible it sounds to you, is always honored and fulfilled within two to three business days. Though you can't say you consider yourself a slouch when it comes to innovation -- you've pioneered so many ways to save closet space that it's not even funny -- you always appreciate them, and know how much you can depend on them.
There's only one problem.
They do not know how to design a dress.
"I know their whole thing is suits, but can we get some feminine energy in there for once?" you mutter as you fumble with keeping your hair away so that you can button the back of your dress. It's a challenge that lays low civilians and trained secret agents alike, but for some reason they seemed to have designed this particular clasp to sit at a junction that makes it almost impossible for you to handle it yourself, the loop sliding insolently out of your grip every time you think that you've got it under control. "Or at least a guy who likes wearing dresses. I don't think anyone in that department has even seen a dress."
Eggsy, reclining unbothered in a chair in a comparatively unfussy Kingsman suit, just shrugs. "They were too busy making sure it looks sexy. Hats off to them, too. You look fit."
He says that when you're in a sweatsuit, but you smile anyway. "Are you just going to watch me struggle all night? We've got to be in the car in ten minutes, you know."
"Haven't heard a please. Manners maketh man, y'know. Or madames."
"Okay, I liked that one. So, please."
Obligingly he stands to assist, tugging the button and loop together easily, having the benefit of not having to practically break physics in order to complete the task. You hold your hair aloft to make it easier for him, your gaze pensive and unfocused as you stare into the middle distance.
"Might not have a lot of these missions left in my career," you muse, somewhat downbeat. "Showing up and being sexy, I mean. Not that they ever really gave me the chance. But I've been doing this for a while, and they know it. They'll roll out some nineteen-year-old Instagram model, and I'll look like a hag that curses little children in comparison."
"Fuck that. You'll look brilliant even when you're ninety," Eggsy assures you, furrowing his brow as even he finds it a challenge to get the button to stay inside of the loop.
You grin. "And when I'm ninety-one?"
"Ninety-one? You'll look even better than you are now. They won't put you on these anymore because everyone and their nan will want to fuck you. Literally. Can't get shit done, then."
"God! You're the worst..." But there's no venom in your tone, only affection as you resist the urge to look back at him with a glowing smile, knowing that it'll only undo all of his progress. "I guess I can only wear this dress when we're partners. But... I don't have a problem with that."
"We've been doing this long enough. The old married couple of Kingsman, eh?" Something gives Eggsy pause as he finally manages to get your button through that dastardly loop. "Pfft... These dresses are always fucking dangerous. Is this button gonna electrocute me if I press on it, or something?"
"No, but if you turn it counterclockwise, it -- "
Eggsy, having unconsciously made that same gesture as you say the words, suddenly falls to your bedroom carpet. You look back in surprise to see a poisoned needle buried in his shoulder, his body frozen in a look of indignant shock as you gently pat the clasped button with admiration.
"If someone is coming up to me from behind and I don't have enough time to draw my gun, I can twist it, and it shoots out... that," you finish explaining, reaching for your phone and dialing a number. Not for the first time, you report, "Merlin, we're gonna be a little late."