Chapter Text
Chapter One: Jump Start
“How could you do this, Harry?” Roxy regarded him with a stunned, almost wounded expression. “You’ve had it all of five days.”
“I didn’t intend to do it,” Harry replied, shifting his weight from one leg to another. “I may have had it in the wrong gear for a bit, and then I may have heard a slight pop and kept driving. Still, I think this is a poor reflection on the manufacturer, not me.”
“This is like the McLaren all over again,” Roxy said, crossing her arms. “Stop buying beautiful cars if you’re just going to ruin them.”
“That was not my fault,” Harry protested. “A car that costs that much should be able to drive over a simple hole in the road.”
“Uh, it was more like a crater and you drove right at it,” said Eggsy, coming up to stand beside them.
The three of them peered into the oil-stained engine bay of the Jaguar. It was like witnessing the aftermath of an explosion.
Roxy whimpered in dismay. “How did you even manage this?”
“That’s for Eggsy to figure out,” Harry remarked, now more than tired of being scolded by his subordinates. The fact that it happened so often was something he chose to ignore.
“Mate, I drive cars, I don’t fix ‘em. You should hire a mechanic.”
“Isn’t that what the dealership is for?”
Eggsy sighed. “You keep breakin’ ‘em and they’re not gonna put you on the listsanymore. Ferrari hung up on me the last time I called.”
“A full time mechanic,” Roxy insisted. She placed one hand on the side of the Jag as if to comfort it.
“Tragic,” Harry said, convinced that it wouldn’t be the worst thing if he stopped being allowed to buy supercars. They were obnoxious and hard to handle. He’d drive a bleeding Renault if it meant that he could get from point A to point B without being judged poorly for it. “Send it back.”
Behind him, Roxy gave Eggsy a pleading look. The fact that the Hart name almost guaranteed the estate would receive every new supercar was a source of immense joy for her. The fact that Harry would then proceed to damage every new supercar in some horrible way was the trade off.
“Fine.” Eggsy tapped at his tablet. “You have your weekly update with Gazelle in two hours. Prolly should go now if you want to avoid traffic.”
“I’ll leave in an hour then.”
Eggsy glared at him. “You know that she takes it out on me when you’re late, yeah?”
Harry turned to Roxy. “Are you armed?”
She frowned. “Always. Why?”
“Because when I show Gazelle my plans for Australia, she may try to kill me.”
“Excellent,” said Eggsy, heading for the door. “That’ll be the showdown of a lifetime, yeah?”
“Which you will unfortunately miss. I need you to get Valentine off my back. He will not stop pushing on this collaboration idea of his.”
Harry could recognize a power grab when he saw one. Richmond Valentine, while unarguably brilliant, had the look of a man bent on creating a monopoly. As it worked now, Harry could use the clout behind the Kingsman Group to invest in any project he found worthy, much to the dismay of his CEO and shareholders. Lately he’d been funding scientific research and infrastructure projects around the world. It was a far cry from its original inception, which had been to sell secrets and manipulate poorer countries into endless crippling debt. The world had enough of those organizations already, and Harry had spent the past decade and a half dismantling all the dirty effort his father had put into the company.
Eggsy shrugged as they headed for the drive, where the car that would take Harry into the city waited. “Just meet with him. Gazelle even thinks it’s a good idea.”
“Which is why you’re staying here, so you can’t agree with her for two hours.” Helping Valentine wipe out technological competitors was not his idea of money or time well spent, no matter what Gazelle said. It was time power protected people instead of grinding them down. “She thinks if she pushes me enough I’ll say yes. I’m far too stubborn for that, people should know that already.”
“I don’t know what you expect me to do about it,” Eggsy grumbled. “There’s only so many excuses I can come up with.”
“You’re a clever boy, you’ll think of something. Also, send an email to Percy about the financiers’ gala and tell him I will not be in attendance.”
Now Eggsy looked truly dismayed. “Harry, come on. All you have to do is show up, shake a few hands, then leave. Percy will kill me.”
The Aston Martin was waiting for them on the drive. It was a DB9, sleek and sophisticated, and the only reason Harry bothered to remember it was because Roxy liked to gush about it every time they went into London. It made her “feel like James Bond” she’d said. She’d even threatened to quit if he tried to drive it. He slid into the passenger seat, saying “Percy specifically asked me to let him oversee the PR department. If he hasn’t found someone to placate the masses yet, that’s not my fault. Making small talk with shareholders is his forte, not mine.”
Eggsy blocked him from shutting the door. “So I have to stay here and deliver a bunch of bad news?”
Harry grinned. “Yes, but you can deliver it however you please.”
“You bet your ass,” Eggsy grumbled, turning and stalking back into the mansion.
Roxy adjusted her mirrors for a moment. “You do know he’s going to piss off a bunch of people on your behalf, right?”
“That’s why I hired him.”
“Should I ask why you hired me?”
“For your impeccable logic and quick draw.”
“Just know that if Gazelle does try to kill you, I’m not going to stop her.”
“That’s fair,” Harry agreed.
+
Four hours later, Roxy pulled the DB9 around the curve of the drive.
“Remind me to have Eggsy change my ringtone for Gazelle to ‘If Looks Could Kill’,” Harry groaned, idly stroking his forehead.
“You don’t always have to provoke her,” Roxy responded, her tone completely devoid of sympathy.
The meeting had gone horribly, despite him arriving on time for once. Harry had turned down all of Gazelle’s proposals, including another unsubtle bid for him to consider a deal with the Valentine Corporation. At the end she’d simply glared at him and rubbed her prosthetic legs together with an ominous slicing sound.
To make matters worse, Percy had stopped him in the hallway to inquire if Harry’s psychopathic tendencies were “a new development or simply a well-kept secret” and were there any criminal activities he should know about in case he needed to make a statement? Harry had responded that the less Percy knew, the safer he’d be, and the latter had nodded seriously before walking off. Apparently giving Eggsy free reign meant the fabrication of elaborate mental disorders. He almost didn’t want to know what excuse he’d used to delay Valentine.
“When you’re in charge someday, Roxy, you can decide whether you value integrity or profit.”
She gave him a strange look, then pointed out the window. “Is that a McLaren 12C?”
“Are you expecting me to answer that?” asked Harry. There was a sleek silver sports car parked on the bit of drive leading to his garage. The closest he could get to answering Roxy’s question was that it certainly wasn’t one of his. “I’d say we have a visitor.”
“That’s the kind of visitor I’d like to meet,” she responded, slipping off her seat belt. Before she could investigate further, her phone rang. “James,” she told him, referring to their Head of Security. “I need to take this.”
It was just as well because Eggsy was coming out to meet them, looking annoyingly smug.
“Good trip?” he asked.
“Psychopathic tendencies, Eggsy? Really?”
“’However I please,’ you said.”
A few feet away they overhead Roxy saying, “No, James. There are no bodies you need to know about. You do realize Eggsy was joking about Harry being a psychopath?”
“I wasn’t!” Eggsy yelled at her.
Roxy threw him a glare and started walking further away. “Yes, I promise to tell you if Harry tries to kill anyone.”
“The first one to go will be my personal assistant,” Harry murmured, looking directly at Eggsy.
“Try me, bruv.”
Just then Harry caught sight of a tall, casually-dressed man exiting the garage. He headed straight for the silver car, leaned in through the open window, and removed a notepad. The man moved with fluid, powerful strides and disappeared back into the garage long before Harry was done watching him.
“Who was that?” he asked, cutting Eggsy off.
Eggsy glanced towards the garage. “Must have been the mechanic. Name’s Merlin.”
“You hired a 12th century magician to fix my car?”
“Well that’s why he’s called Merlin. He’s a wizard with cars apparently. Everyone says he’s the best, so…” Eggsy shrugged.
“You got a mechanic here that quickly?”
“When I called him and told him what you did, he sounded interested. Said he’d come by immediately.” A wide, partially-malicious grin spread across Eggsy’s face. “You should’a seen the look on his face when he lifted the hood.”
Harry bit back a sigh. “Excellent. I’m sure hearing my name helped the process.”
“Didn’t mention it, actually,” Eggsy said. “Though the estate is prolly a dead giveaway.”
As were the obnoxiously monogrammed drive gates that Harry wanted to replace. Every time he saw the curving iron ‘H’s he felt the desire to pry them off with a crowbar.
“And you didn’t call the dealership why?”
“Because you’re gonna make Rox cry, Harry. You want her to protect you, yeah?”
“Fair enough,” Harry agreed. “Let’s go see what this mechanic has to say then.”
All the lights in the garage were on, illuminating the myriad metal surfaces. Harry found the mechanic where he’d expected to: rolled under the half-propped chassis of the Jaguar. The notepad was resting on the ground by his feet, several lines of neat, decisive script already written in.
All he could see of the man was his long legs clad in dark jeans, bent at the knees, and his well-worn loafers.
“Merlin, I presume.”
One of the legs straightened, the heel of one shoe pressed against the ground for purchase. Then the man rolled out from under the car, wearing an unreadable expression. He was already up to his shirt sleeves in oil, which didn’t seem out of place considering the sheer amount of fluid covering everything in the car. He unfolded himself smoothly, coming up to match Harry’s height.
“I take it you’re the man who bottomed out a McLaren P1.”
Goddamnit, Eggsy. “Harry Hart. And I still maintain that was the road’s fault, not mine.”
This made Merlin’s mouth quirk slightly, and damn if that didn’t entice Harry at least a bit. The man was fantastic to look at: green eyes hidden under dark brows and a jawline cut from glass. There was something dangerous in his demeanor that stuck with Harry, a faint itch in his skin.
“And this one? The road’s fault as well?” He spoke with a calm ease, his words measured in a rich Scottish accent. Harry’s pulse leapt.
“Ah, no. This was my fault, I suspect.”
“It certainly took some doing.”
Clearing his throat, Harry asked lightly, “Is Merlin the name I should put on the check?”
“Logan Davis.”
Something twitched in the back of Harry’s mind at this. He opened his mouth, then paused, still thinking. Merlin only watched him, smiling slightly, knowing but not attempting to help Harry get there.
Logan Davis. Cars. Danger.
“The driver?” he asked.
“Once upon a time,” Merlin replied.
He remembered the name simply because it was everywhere in the 80s. Harry couldn’t pull up a single memory of what Logan Davis had looked like then, which wasn’t surprising. His knowledge of F1 was minimal at best. Still, he knew enough to recognize that Merlin was someone important. Even the nickname made sense now. Something about a driving wizard, all a bunch of white noise to Harry at the time.
Now he found himself wishing he’d paid more attention.
“I’m slightly involved in F1 myself,” Harry said, hoping he didn’t sound too much like he was reaching. Which he was.
“I’m aware,” Merlin said, drawing a rag from his back pocket and wiping his fingers. “You sponsored one of my competitors.”
“Clearly I should have sponsored you. From what I remember, my driver never won.”
“It takes more than money to make a team,” was the mild reply.
Well, fuck. Harry slipped his hands into his pockets, wondering why his head and mouth couldn’t function in unison today. “You make an excellent point.”
Merlin tucked the rag back into his pocket, picked up the notepad, and added several lines.
“And you fix cars now?” Harry asked. It was a stupid, obvious question, but the silence was worse. I can salvage this conversation, he thought. Harry rarely had trouble with words. What the hell was it about Logan Davis that made his brain shut down?
“I attempt to,” Merlin responded, glancing back at the oil-splattered engine bay. “Ones that interest me.”
“Does the Jaguar interest you? Because I can always break a different one, as I’m sure my assistant has told you.”
Once again, those intense eyes flickered back to Harry, sending a sudden jitter through his chest.
“It’ll serve.”
You arsehole. Act more cavalier about the one thing the man’s dedicated his life to.
Thankfully, Merlin tucked his notepad under one arm and shifted his body towards the door. “I’ll arrange to have it towed back to my garage and call you when it’s ready. I left my contact information with your staff if you need me before then.”
“Your assistance is appreciated, Mr. Davis.” When everything else failed, it was easiest to fall back on professional lines.
Harry held out his hand and waited as Merlin hesitated, looking down at his oil-stained palms. But Harry was determined. It was a cursory handshake, but the mechanic’s strong grip was enough to make Harry feel rattled. Maybe it was the way the man’s gaze never left Harry’s.
“Merlin is fine.” He inclined his head, then headed for the doorway where Eggsy and Roxy stood looking supremely distracted.
+
There were very few things that put Roxy visibly on edge and as far as Eggsy could tell, none of them were in the building. Nevertheless she was practically vibrating beside him. He could see her ponytail twitching as she watched Harry talk with the mechanic.
“Are you okay?”
“Logan Davis is here,” she hissed back, leaning up on the pads of her feet for a better look.
“What, that Merlin guy?”
Roxy stared at him like he was the one with psychopathic tendencies. “Do you not know who he is?”
“Yeah,” Eggsy said defensively, “he’s a mechanic.”
“No!”
“He is!” Eggsy insisted. “I checked!” Ever since the last gardener he’d hired had taken to staring in the windows while holding hedge shears, Roxy had demanded that she be the one to vet out any new staff. And he might have sped up the process this time, but Merlin seemed normal enough and all the hedge shears were locked up, so…
“No, he’s a three-time Grand Prix world champion! He held the record for most consecutive race wins until Vettel hit nine in 2013! He helped McLaren create arguably the best Formula One car ever made!”
“Woah, Rox, calm down!” Eggsy grinned. “Do you want his autograph?”
She gave him a scathing look. “Shut up.”
“I’m guessin’ yes.”
“Of course I fucking do! He’s a legend!”
“Seriously, Rox, you have no chill right now.”
She exhaled sharply, but managed to look a bit more controlled. Eggsy, meanwhile, was gleeful. He rarely had the chance to see Roxy so excited and it was even rarer that he got to tell her to calm down. Speaking of people losing their cool…
“Does Harry look flustered to you?”
Roxy paused from her hero worship long enough to study their employer. “I think you’re right.”
“£20 that he wants to get into your legend’s trousers.”
“Oh God,” Roxy groaned. “If you’re right, then Harry is going to humiliate himself.”
“Why? Harry can be charmin’ when he wants to be.”
“Does Merlin looked charmed?”
Eggsy winced. The Scotsman cut an imposing figure and his expression was unreadable at best. Still it was pretty obvious that whatever Harry was saying, it wasn’t having a great effect. “You think we can distract them?”
“No need, he’s leaving.”
Merlin nodded at them as he passed through the door. There was a hot flush on Roxy’s cheeks and a look akin to terror on her face. Eggsy made a heart-sign with his hands, to which she responded by raising two fingers in a V.
Outside, a car engine fired up and growled into the distance. Harry approached, looking vaguely dismayed.
“You could have left out the McLaren story.”
“You could’a brought me to the meetin’,” Eggsy replied easily.
Harry just shook his head. “Today’s been a day.”
Roxy, in her best sympathetic voice, asked “Do you want me to ask Amelia if there’s cake?”
“I’m hardly a child in need of comfort food,” Harry protested. Then his mouth quirked. “With tea, please.”
“On it.” Her ponytail swung behind her as she turned briskly.
“Do you want me to fire ‘im?” Eggsy asked, after Roxy was out of earshot.
“Who?”
“The mechanic. I can just call the dealer tomorrow.”
“Absolutely not. I just need to do some research, that’s all.”
“Research?” Eggsy prompted. He’d bet his entire bank account that Harry’s research included the terms “F1” and “Logan Davis.”
“Mm,” Harry responded, eyes not quite focused. Then he redirected his gaze fully on Eggsy. “And you are going to come up with another excuse for Percy before he schedules me a mandatory psychiatric evaluation.”
“Come on,” said Eggsy, now walking back towards the mansion proper with Harry. “Everyone knows you ain’t a psychopath.”
“That’s the thing about wealth, Eggsy. People believe you can get away with anything if you have enough money.”
The sad thing, Eggsy thought to himself, is that they’re probably right.