Work Text:
When Eggsy meets Dick Grayson, he immediately clocks that he isn’t just a beat cop. It’s not even that he’s cheating by having been given a dossier on Bruce Wayne and every member of his weird, vaguely questionable family and associates, which includes Dick; it’s that like recognizes like.
And from the flicker of awareness that crosses Dick’s gaze, he’s figured out something from his end, too, which makes it tit for tat. Their handshake lingers for a second too long, and although every Kingsman applies keratolytics and pumice stones on a weekly basis to keep their hands as close to a civilian’s as possible, there’s always trace of calluses left over.
Dick isn’t even trying to hide that he has a brawler’s hands. And that he wields something with a handle on a regular basis, though Eggsy can’t quite figure out what that might be. Not a gun, that’s all he can confidently say before the handshake ends.
“Gymnastics, right until I was ten, then I swapped to freerunning,” Eggsy says, unprompted, smiling. Sometimes—often, for him—the best disarming tactic is to come off as blithely candid. Which means weaving in plenty of truths between the lies. “You?”
Dick’s smile is practiced, boyish. It’s the exact same at twenty-four as it is in the photographs taken at charity balls when he was fifteen, standing by his billionaire philanthropist guardian. Which is, again, weird, and Eggsy has a lot of thoughts about that he’s shared with an exasperated Roxy, who is standing across the crowded room, chatting up said billionaire.
“Aerial acrobatics as a kid. You know, when you do all kinds of crazy tricks up in the air to see if you can’t give someone a heart attack? Not that different from freerunning, really.” Dick's voice is breezy, and they are having an entirely different conversation underneath it all, most of which sounds remarkably like ooh, fun; what are you?
But Galahad and Lancelot are in Gotham on business, and Eggsy has to keep that in mind. Wayne Enterprises flagged itself as a potential threat when they began buying up shares of the Valentine Corporation. Which Kingsman has been methodically purchasing ever since they went up for sale, albeit forced to do so through layers and layers of shell companies and covers, having to sacrifice not insignificant portions of their budget to cover the expenses.
Which has made them the slow tortoise to Wayne Enterprises’ hare.
“Fun,” is what he says, good-natured, crisp RP accent that drives the Yanks wild. “Though I’d wager the landings are a bit more forgiving when you’ve got a net underneath you,” he lobs back, collecting two champagne flutes from a passing waitress, offering Dick the spare.
Dick’s grin widens enough to reveal a flash of teeth, the kind of radiant that makes people stop looking for what lies beneath. “Wouldn’t know, never used one. Ruins the spell, you know? Audiences like it better when it’s life or death.” He accepts the champagne; Eggsy does not react to what’s a pretty shockingly morbid thing to say, considering how Grayson ended up as Wayne’s ward. He’s not supposed to know about that. “Besides, you learn to catch yourself a lot faster when hitting the floor isn’t an option.”
“Brutal,” Eggsy says, as if that wasn’t exactly how he’d learned to parkour and freerun, too. And there’s definitely no safety net to catch him as an agent. They clink their drinks together, and then the orchestra picks up again, having been on a break when he and Roxy arrived.
Both of them are rubbish at hiding their accents despite working with dialect coaches, so their assigned covers were as siblings rather than making up two separate identities that just happened to be British and arrive in the city at the same time, which is why Eggsy feels safe to sigh dramatically as his “sister” leads Wayne to the dance floor. “There she goes. Apologies ahead of time if Anne proves, hm, insistent, while we’re here. She has a thing for older men. I think she watched Pretty Woman too many times while we were growing up.”
“Okay, but that’s a great movie, I can’t blame her.”
“I preferred My Fair Lady. Audrey Hepburn is way more charming than Julia Roberts.”
Dick hums the melody to I Could Have Danced All Night under his breath, almost lost under the strains of the pianist really getting into it. “That one’s great, too. Classic. No need to be pitting two baddies against each other.” He shifts his weight, and Eggsy’s arm hairs bristle. He recognizes that move. He’s perfected that move.
Mostly because Harry taught it to him.
“So, how long are you and Anne in town for?” Dick asks casually. “Just while the auctions are going on or—?”
Eggsy shakes off the frisson. “Auctions, mainly, though that depends on whether Anne decides she wants to become Mrs. Wayne,” he jokes. “Though we don’t really have anywhere pressing to be for a while. So we might do some sightseeing while we’re here. Seeing as you’re a local, what do you recommend?”
“We—ell,” Dick drawls out. “Best of luck to her. Gotham’s best and brightest have been waging a decades-long war for that position, and they fight dirty. But as you don’t seem interested in the position yourself—”
Eggsy lets his eyebrows do something comical; who, me?
“—Wayne Manor is a pretty impressive landmark. Maybe as impressive as one of those fancy castles you’re probably used to.” Dick swirls the last of the champagne, letting the bubbles froth up. “Big place, lots of interesting architecture. Could be fun to see what kind of freerunning you guys are doing across the pond.”
The sudden voice in his ear would have caught Eggsy off guard if he hadn’t been expecting it for a while now. “Accept, Galahad,” says Merlin.
And if Merlin says jump, who is Eggsy to argue?