Chapter Text
The Lap Record for a particular circuit is the fastest time ever recorded in a Formula One Grand Prix around that circuit.
Two weeks later:
Anyone who had dealt with Percy professionally had no idea the terror that was dealing with him personally. James had been the recipient of every cold gaze, swear, and harsh rebuke since his partner was released from the hospital, unable to work.
“This is ridiculous,” Percy spat, for the fourth time that day alone. “Who put a required recovery time clause in my contract?”
“You did,” James reminded him gently. “You and Harry wrote the employment contracts.”
Percy scowled and hobbled towards the kitchen. He stood there a moment, then went into the living room. Then he cursed loudly. “I’ve spent more than a week lying in a bleeding hospital bed. I don’t want to lie around at home now.”
“If you’re not gentle, your ribs will take even longer to heal.”
“I was there, I heard the doctor.”
“It’s only a few more weeks, Perce. Don’t worry, we can handle it.”
Shockingly, they could. That’s what was getting to Percy the most – the fact that, despite their clumsy efforts, the others were slogging through the mess just fine without him. Not entirely without him of course. He’d been acting as a consultant via phone when James and HR couldn’t see him, the latter of which would implode if they knew. (The former probably knew already.)
They were still sending him messages about trauma counseling, which was enough to make him grouchy for a good four hours. He didn’t need counseling; he needed to work. Time off was great when it was being used for a vacation. Not when it was spent counting down the minutes until the next batch of painkillers, and trying to avoid one’s own face in every mirrored surface (fuck the stainless steel refrigerator).
Then of course there was James – gorgeous, repentant, intolerable James who spent every spare moment trying to rearrange the flat so everything was reachable and configured to constantly remind Percy of his invalidity. Or he was adjusting the sling, or keeping track of painkillers. At least if they’d kept the dog, that would have been a distraction.
James opened his mouth, but Percy cut him off. “I’m going to make tea.”
If he had to hear James ask one more time how he was, he was going to set the entire flat on fire.
The electric kettle was empty, which required more effort than he really wanted to expend. Before he could even consider doing something about it though, James was there, sliding the kettle away. “Let me.”
It was enough to break Percy. “For Christ’s sake, James! I’m not dying! I can do one fucking thing by myself!”
The flat felt crushingly silent. James didn’t look up. Instead, he held the kettle under the sink head and they watched it fill. When it was full, he set it gently back on the base and walked away. Percy heard the bedroom door shut. Fuck.
He knew he’d fucked up. And he wasn’t ready to chase after James yet. Instead he focused on the tea. It was harder than he thought to scoop the leaves one handed, to try and manage the spillage on the counter. He hadn’t missed how the tea tin, spoons, and strainer had all been placed together, easy to reach. The consideration had felt suffocating before – now he only felt the weight of James’s guilt and love.
He couldn’t pretend any longer. The kettle beeped but he ignored it, abandoning the tea in favor of James.
Percy pushed open the bedroom door. James was sitting on the edge of their bed, his head down and shoulders trembling. Not once in their relationship had he seen James cry. James was always the brave one, the beacon, the joy.
But it finally hit Percy that James was coping the best he could as well.
Realizing the door was open, James rubbed his thumbs across his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, starting to stand. “Did you need something?”
Percy held his hand out to stop him. “No. I was looking for you.”
“You found me.” James attempted a smile but the corners of his mouth crumpled. He turned away.
Percy moved with all the speed he could muster, which wasn’t very fast. With James on the side with his bad arm, there was little Percy could do to be comforting besides place his free hand on James’s thigh.
“James.”
“I nearly lost you.”
The cracked voice was enough to bring tears to Percy’s eyes, but he blinked them away. He could be here for James. This was something he could do.
“Forgive me. I haven’t made this easy for you. Or anyone. But mostly you.”
James smiled: a tiny, knowing smile. “I know how stubborn you are. I knew this was going to be difficult.”
How much more difficult did James deserve though? He was the one who had to sit in the hospital, waiting, agonizing. The one who had to stay strong for Roxy. And the one who’d risked prison to save their jobs – no, their tired little family. Even when he’d shown up at the hospital, freshly washed and shaven, Percy had smelled the chemicals. They hadn’t talked about it, but he knew.
All Percy had to do was sit and heal.
The pain medication was making him drowsy. Peering blearily at James, he reached over and ran his fingers along the dark semi-circles under his lover’s eyes.
“Not a handsome sight, I’m afraid,” James said with a chuckle.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He was the one covered in a rainbow of bruises, all blending into ugly shades he didn’t know existed. For the first few days he’d caught James flinching every time he saw Percy’s injuries. Now there was just the exhaustion and guilt in every gaze.
Percy was getting sick of being treated like glass. “Kiss me,” he ordered.
James leaned forward obediently, but it wasn’t what Percy wanted. Just the barest press of his lips, chapped from being bitten and worried.
“Harder,” Percy insisted. James only shook his head. “I’m not going to break, James.”
“No,” was the soft reply. “But I might.”
God, you’re terrible at this, Percy thought to himself. “I understand. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I know it’s not easy for you, having to be here instead of at Kingsman. I know having to trust everyone else to do their jobs properly is hard, especially since it’s impossible for them to get it all done the way you would have. But it’ll get done, Perce. It’ll be okay.”
Percy looked down at James’s hand, resting on his knee, fingers moving in small patterns. Comforting him even though he’d come in here to comfort James. “I’m a selfish dick, aren’t I?”
“Sometimes,” James answered, a cracking chuckle escaping him. “But I’ll bear all of it as long as it means I get to keep you.”
He must have been scared, Percy thought. It was always the two of them, Percy always level-headed enough to calm James’s excitable moments. But for awhile it had really just been James, alone. Percy tried to imagine how he’d feel if it was him against the world, without James, and realized he couldn’t put it off any longer.
“This is all wrong,” he grumbled, pushing James’s hand away and heading for the closet. “No, stay,” he ordered, seeing James shifting in his periphery. “Please just…” Stay there, he thought. With a shaky hand he reached into the pocket of his winter coat, removing a small box. It was black leather, artfully crafted, and stamped with the artist’s symbol.
Even after Roxy had successfully retrieved it, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was cursed, and that having the box in the flat would doom them. But it had already been three days and nothing had happened – at least nothing worse.
This is happening.
He eased back onto the bed next to James, forcing down a grimace as his ribs screamed. The first thing he was going to do once he healed was seek out self-defense training. No bastard was going to get a drop on him ever again.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” he said, opening his hand to reveal the small box in his palm. “I can’t kneel at the moment. I’m hoping you won’t mind.”
James’s eyes zeroed in on the box immediately. Percy could see his brain working: black box, hinged, the right size for a ring.
“Let me finish before you say yes.”
It was foolish to assume he’d say anything else, given the brightness that had already transformed James’s exhausted features. He was practically vibrating with excitement. But Percy knew if he didn’t get this all out now, it would sour the moment to come.
A deep, slow inhale. A twinge of pain. “The reason I didn’t have an escort when I was attacked was because I had planned to pick this up before going to see the lawyers. It was why I had you stay home and pack. It was why I wanted to go on a trip in the first place. So maybe if I hadn’t tried to do something impulsive for once, we wouldn’t have had to go through all of that.”
James’s mouth shifted, faltered. But he remained silent.
Percy pushed on. “I’ve had a lot of time to think. This decision isn’t impulsive anymore. I don’t think it ever was, really. It’s just that every time I thought of doing…this, being vulnerable in front of you, it made me nervous. It shouldn’t. You’ve never once given me reason to doubt your affection. And still, even now…” He sighed. There was tension in his chest that had nothing to do with his injuries.
“I am not as open as you are. I am not as cheerful, or as kind. What I am…is yours. I love you, James. You’ve given me everything. What I can give you, is me. And a promise, that no matter what foolish thing I try do in the future, I will do it with you.”
The box was stiff. Trying to open it with one hand wasn’t helping, but he would be damned if James had to open his own wedding ring box. Finally, he slipped his fingers under the lid and it snapped open to reveal a thick platinum ring cut with a band of dark sapphire.
Upon seeing the ring, a sense of ease, of rightness, washed through him. How was this ever difficult? “James Spencer, will you marry me?”
A smile tugged at the corners of James’s mouth. “Can I say yes now?”
“What?” Oh, his order. “Goddamnit, yes.”
“Then yes.”
This time those chapped lips felt like magic, the affection exactly what Percy needed to ease the anxiety thrumming through his chest. How did this ridiculous man hold so much power over him? None of it mattered anymore: not the contract, not Kingsman, not being under house arrest. James Spencer was his fiancé now.
“Do you even want the ring, or do you want to re-break my ribs instead?”
James immediately pulled away, but Percy couldn’t stop a faint smile. Those fingers he had been so focused on looked even better with the shimmering silver and blue, and then even better with his own fingers laced between them.
“Spring wedding.”
Percy grimaced. “You want an actual ceremony?”
“Yes,” James insisted. “With flowers and music. And cake. After what you’ve put me through, I deserve it.”
He couldn’t really argue against that. “Kiss me again and you can have anything you want.”
This time he was the one who closed the distance, because James was being too gentle, ribs be damned. I am so lucky, he thought – a mantra against fear and pain, which washed away with every kiss. So fucking lucky.
+
Six weeks later:
Eggsy had taken over Gazelle’s office without complaint. Interpol was still searching for her, and her menacing legacy still hung heavy in the air. Most employees avoided her former space, but Eggsy found it comforting in a strange way. She had armed him, taught him how to fight the board, fight for his place here. It made sense that he would graduate to her office as well.
He would graduate in another sense, too, though not for a long while. Harry was paying to put him through business school, which, though mostly dry, would help him establish his credibility within Kingsman. Besides, if he wanted to follow in Percy’s footsteps, he needed the know-how.
And he had Tristan to help if things got too confusing, or if he needed a distraction. He was a very capable distraction. Eggsy had been nervous over how things would progress after their hook up, which had been driven by adrenaline and exhaustion, but Tristan never overcomplicated things.
He was straightforward, honest, and sometimes maddeningly casual. But he’d been quite clear that he wanted Eggsy as long as the other felt the same.
“Remember, 7 o’clock,” Tristan announced, striding into Eggsy’s office. He was wearing fitted blue pinstripe and the barest outline of his firm thighs were visible through the cloth. Eggsy coughed.
“Like I’d forget. You’ve been braggin’ about your homemade pizza for weeks now.”
Tristan tilted his head, smiling. “I keep forgetting how good you look in a suit.”
Like Eggsy would let such a simple compliment affect him. He just needed to adjust his sleeves. Okay, fuck, maybe it was kind of affecting him. “Mr. Seong, are you hitting on me?”
“Of course not, Mr. Unwin. I know that’s against company policy.”
“So I imagine you’re here to discuss something work-related?”
Tristan made a show of swiping at his tablet. “The Norwegian accounts are showing some good growth, but I think we can do better. Also, that’s a really nice suit.”
“Can you two be finished? I have need of Mr. Unwin,” teased a warm voice. Tristan nearly leapt aside as Harry appeared in the doorway, grinning.
The last month had aged Harry, putting far more grey in his hair than he would tolerate. Begrudgingly, he’d dyed it back to dark brown, under the explanation that if he looked too stressed out people wouldn’t have confidence in him. Eggsy thought the salt and pepper look suited him more.
As far as he knew, Harry hadn’t talked to Merlin since the nightmare ended, and it showed. Harry’s smiles lacked true humor and his eyes always looked faded. It seemed wrong that they were all getting their happy endings, but Harry had to go it alone. The one time he’d brought up the former racer, Harry had gently changed the subject and Eggsy had left it alone since then.
Harry would do what he wanted and when. It was just that Eggsy knew, given enough time, Harry would revert back to cold feet.
“I’m heading to Paris tomorrow to give my presentation on the European account restoration, and I’m in need of the PowerPoint you dreamed up.”
“Ah, right.” Eggsy proffered the flash drive. “Neat and sharp with no noises or rude transitions. And it’s on the cloud.”
“The new servers are arriving next Tuesday,” Tristan added. “In case that’s helpful information. They’ll be some of the best in the world. They have an entire team coming with them.”
“That you’ll be supervising?” asked Harry pointedly. “I’m not going to feel comfortable with anyone else.”
It took a lot to fluster Tristan, but Harry’s direct praise was enough to accomplish it. Eggsy watched with amusement as Tristan tried to gather his words, but only managed a nod.
“Should I have Kaha bring the car around?” Eggsy offered, as a way to save Tristan from himself.
“Not necessary. I’ll contact her when I’m ready.” Harry paused. “How’s Roxy?”
Roxy had quit working for Harry almost immediately after Percy woke up. It had shocked everyone, except Harry, who quietly recognized that something was wrong. She’d moved out of the estate and now had a flat in downtown London that she shared with Amelia.
“Good,” Eggsy answered honestly. “She’s up to her eyeballs in it, but she’s really happy.”
Harry nodded, as though that’s what he’d expected to hear. “I’ll leave you gentleman to it. And by ‘it’ I mean ‘work.’”
Gone were the days when Eggsy would have shot off a middle finger in response. He was an executive aide now. As such, he only muttered an “of course” to Tristan’s “naturally” as Harry left the office.
Once they’d heard the elevator doors close, Tristan turned back to Eggsy. “Where were we?”
“Accounts. Norwegian accounts.”
“No, pizza. Dinner, my place.”
“Seven,” Eggsy added. “I know.”
“Dress code strictly enforced.”
“Wear the suit?”
Tristan laughed. “Wear the suit.”
+
Ten weeks later:
Roxy hadn’t showered in nearly three days and she was thrilled about it. After over two months of work the shelter was finally open. She’d been living off granola bars (much to Amelia’s horror) and practically buying stock in dry shampoo, and yet here she was staring at a furnished facility.
As she watched the doors a teenage girl with a backpack and sharp hair that looked self-trimmed peeked in. Immediately greeted by the warm receptionist, she inched in, the look of relief on her features impossible to miss.
Amelia came up and wrapped her arms around Roxy’s shoulders, just as the tears were starting to spark. “So far 17 people have come in, just since we opened at 7.”
After everything that happened at Kingsman, an anxious chasm had opened in Roxy’s chest. For the first few nights she couldn’t sleep or eat properly. Even after Percy was sent home, even after things began the slow road towards normalcy, she knew something was different. She had changed.
Despite her affection for Harry, there was resentment still. How his careless behavior had endangered them all. And no one was working harder than Harry Hart to fix things, but it wasn’t enough and they both knew it. He’d been the one to approach her, to tell her that it was okay if she wanted to leave.
She knew immediately what she needed to do. With Percy’s help, she’d registered a non-profit organization to provide services to LGBT youth and set about securing a facility. She wanted it to be somewhere safe for people like her who didn’t have an Uncle Percy to run to.
They’d purchased an old homeless shelter, upgraded the kitchens, added beds, hired counselors and gathered up more travel-sized toiletries than Roxy thought existed in the world. They’d designed a website and made contact with other youth groups in the city. And here they were.
It was incredible how quickly money accomplished things.
She was shocked when the first donation came from none other than Richard and Elizabeth Morton – her parents. Percy had told her in his calm, poised manner, and asked if he should return it. “No,” she’d decided. “And I’ll send them the thank you card personally.”
She’d made out dozens of thank you cards since then. Many to friends and family, one to Merlin, whose donation had come with original artwork to be raffled off at a later fundraiser (and Roxy would be lying if she said she wasn’t tempted to bid on it herself), and several to politicians whose names she hadn’t expected to see. And there’d been the usual vitriol from the bigots but the positive reception vast outweighed them.
Besides, none of the hatred mattered, Roxy thought as she watched the receptionist guide the girl towards the dining area. This mattered. This moment right now, this girl. The people who had come in before her and the ones who would come in after her.
“You’re happy,” said Amelia, reaching down to squeeze Roxy’s hand.
“I’m happy,” she agreed.
+
Twelve weeks later:
The jet lag was catching up. Harry rubbed his eyes, then went for his cup of tea. Cold. Of course.
The last week had been one small annoyance after another. Kingsman was showing positive numbers again, and he’d wrapped up his ass-kissing tour of Europe and Asia. Yet he felt worse than he had when this mess all started.
He was lonely.
He missed the ducklings bickering. His new assistant was a capable young man from Oxford, properly deferent and highly organized. Noah showed up early each morning and left when Harry dismissed him, but there was none of that familiar connection he’d had with Eggsy and Roxy.
The cars sat in the garage, probably railing at their disuse. He’d left the DB9 with Roxy, despite her protests, because it really was her car. She had cared for it, treated it better than he would and knew how to. It was a meager apology after everything.
Instead he’d learned to drive the Jaguar (he hadn’t replicated the oil incident again yet), which had been waiting for him at the estate when he’d finally returned. Merlin had driven it in through the gates, patted it fondly, and then ordered a taxi somewhere down the road. Couldn’t ask for better service than that.
Harry wished he’d kept the car. It would have given him an easy excuse to contact Merlin, which is exactly why the other man had returned it immediately.
You have my number.
Yes, of course he did. He’d memorized the digits with how often he pulled it up, and then changed his mind. But it never seemed like the right time. He wanted to contact Merlin when things made sense, but they felt like more of a mess than ever.
This house was too fucking big.
Caught up in his self-pity, Harry about jumped out of his skin when he heard a familiar rough accent calling for him. Eggsy’s face appeared in the office doorway. “There you are.”
“What’s happened?” he asked, steeling himself for a new disaster.
Eggsy let himself in, setting a box down on Harry’s desk. The smell of fresh pastries immediately filled the room. “Nothing. I came to bring you some mail and Amelia sent the food, of course.” He started setting envelopes down on the box, preventing Harry from jamming his fingers into it. “Rox has her first fundraiser on the 21st, and no she won’t be pissed if you go – she might be more pissed if you don’t. Saito’s physical therapy has ended and he’s comin’ back to work next week. James and Percy sent out their wedding invitations and Percy wants it known that he didn’t get a say in the design. And I’ve brought some stuff for you to sign.” More papers down on the box, followed by a pen.
Harry ignored the forms in favor of the pastries, sending them sweeping across his desk as he opened the box. It wasn’t until he’d sunk his teeth into something flaky and filled with rhubarb compote that he turned his attention back to Eggsy. “Why drive all the way out here to bring these? We could have discussed this at the office.”
The young man only rolled his eyes. “Did I interrupt your zen moment? I thought you might like to see a friendly face after your flight ‘n all.”
He wasn’t wrong. A surge of affection welled up in Harry’s chest, crowding out the tension that had taken up residence the last few months. “You’re right. Thank you, Eggsy.”
“There’s somethin’ else.”
Of course there was. There were a million something else’s. Harry waited dutifully.
“Merlin sent an invoice. For the Jag.”
Harry took the slip of paper, which detailed out the work performed in Merlin’s neat, slightly crooked handwriting. Merlin was more than capable of generating an electronic invoice; that he chose to handwrite them even in this modern age just reminded Harry of how stalwart the man was. And how fucking cheeky: he’d scribbled “OVERDUE” at the bottom in red, along with his phone number.
A thrill of excitement ran through him. He jammed the last of the pastry in his mouth and pushed himself up from his desk. “I’ll take care of this one in person.”
“I’ll bet,” said Eggsy, then coughed when Harry fixed him with his flat gaze.
“I’m taking the P1.”
“I’ll have to tell Roxy. She’s gonna cry.”
“She’ll understand,” Harry assured him. He had a perfect plan. He—what did his hair even look like? Oh, fuck it. Merlin had seen his overly-fluffed hair before.
“Harry!”
Harry paused in the doorway, mild irritation springing up inside him. “What?”
Eggsy brandished the sheaf of forms at him. “This wasn’t just an excuse, I really need these signed today.”
He was still cursing Eggsy even after he was well on the road, convinced that the boy had held those forms on purpose, just to watch Harry struggle. He’d nearly shredded the last page with his pen, eager to get to Merlin. It surprised him how easily he remembered the way. In his mind, the time that had passed between them felt almost insurmountably long.
The P1 grumbled and jerked under his care like a wolf on a leash. Harry remembered the shock and thrill of the track, and how capable Merlin’s hands looked on the wheel, muscles taut along his forearms as he controlled the supercar. He hoped that wouldn’t be the only time he’d see that.
The main garage was open, but no one was in sight as Harry eased the P1 up the drive. As soon as he stepped out though, he was greeted by skittering feet, and a bulldog’s slobbering maw. He laughed as the puppy dumped itself at his feet, looking up at him with adoration.
So at least someone was happy to see Harry. Gwen padded up quietly, before sitting and watching him from a short distance. He was trying to coax her, while still deciding how to proceed, when the house door opened and Merlin stepped out, holding a mug. His eyes went from Harry, to the dogs, to the P1 sitting sleek in the drive. “Ah,” he said lightly. “No wonder I didn’t hear you.”
Not exactly the reaction Harry wanted, but more or less what he expected. “I realize I’ve come by unannounced—”
“Like you do. Out with it.”
Harry stumbled over his words for a moment, stunned by Merlin’s cold manner. Perhaps this was a bad idea after all. “Ah, well. I came to make payment on an overdue invoice.”
Merlin set the mug down near the drafting table and came out to meet him in the drive. The puppy immediately abandoned Harry in order to flop down at his owner’s feet. Merlin studied Harry for a long moment, then finally smiled. “I got tired of waiting for you to move.”
“Things were still…messy,” Harry admitted.
“Not from what the ducklings told me.”
Of course they’d still be in contact with Merlin. He’d adopted them almost immediately – he was the cool dad. Harry wasn’t even going to pretend that it didn’t annoy him. “Fine. I was still messy.”
Merlin snorted. “I think I’ve seen your messy before, Hart. I’m fine with it.”
“Can’t you let me be a coward in peace?” Harry finally spluttered out.
This drew a deep, low chuckle. “No. We’re too old for you to wallow.”
“I made it here, didn’t I?”
He would have eventually, invoice or not. He thought of Merlin most days, of how his sharp jawline ran, of his skin under Harry’s fingertips, of his collected, logical manner. Merlin both excited Harry and gave him peace. Even looking at him now, too many steps separating them still, Harry felt connected.
“So what did you do to it?” Merlin asked finally, jerking his chin towards the P1. It looked sleek and menacing, poised as it was against the dark grey tarmac.
Harry couldn’t even pretend to be offended, not with his history. “Nothing, actually. It’s meant to be a gift.”
“Hart.”
“No, hear me out. Your McLaren was damaged during…the mess. The estate has no one left to drive it anymore. And you drive it so masterfully. It belongs with you. And perhaps I could have visitation rights?”
It was impossible to miss the twitch of Merlin’s mouth, or the glow in his eyes. “That sounds reasonable. I’ve been seduced with less before.”
“Then they were doing you a disservice,” Harry proclaimed, no longer uneasy. Merlin hadn’t kicked him out or rejected his offer. Both good signs. There was still so much distance between them. Could he move closer? God, he wanted to kiss the man so badly--
“Stop thinking and come here, Hart. I can’t move, I’ve got dogs.”
Well then. Harry obeyed, heart thumping into his ears. How come Merlin had the power to turn him into a teenager without doing much of anything at all? It was only when Harry felt the insistent press of lips against his that his brain went quiet, his entire being focused on the feel and scent of Merlin.
“I’m tired of you reading my mind,” Harry said, when they broke away.
Merlin only laughed, pulling Harry back towards him. “No, you aren’t.”
The puppy began to whine. This time, Merlin released Harry, letting him stagger back a step, disoriented. He licked his lower lip and stared down the drive.
“Is something wrong?”
“Well, it would appear that I’ve found myself without a ride home.”
“I see,” Merlin replied gravely. “And no self-respecting cabbie is going to drive out this far.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to walk.”
“I’m afraid you will. Unless, of course, you’d rather stay.” Merlin gestured to the house behind him, with its eight-car garage. “Not up to your usual standards, I’m sure. The bed is covered in pet hair. But I have some wine with a fancy French name that may not have gone to vinegar yet, and I’ve been told I cook a decent meal.”
Harry took the hand offered to him, enjoying the way it felt to have Merlin close again. “Lead the way.”