Archive of Our Own

The debriefing comes first, and it takes well over four hours to get through all of the bloody forms. Merlin calmly insists that protocol must be maintained, and Eggsy understands, knows that the rest of the organization must be brought up to speed, but it doesn’t stop him from daydreaming about his bed and how spectacular it would feel to just collapse.

Merlin stays perched in front of his laptop, tapping away as they walk through the events of the last 24 hours. He’s relieved that Roxy is there too, sitting in the chair next to his and looking as exhausted as he feels, squeezing his hand gently under the table when his voice gets tight and uneven as he details his last conversation with Harry and his encounter with Chester King. 

He doesn’t miss the way Merlin’s typing falters briefly, eyes softening but not looking away from his screen. There’s a beat of silence and Eggsy wonders if he’s going to say something, make him go into more detail, but the moment passes and Merlin is back to the report, clicking away. Eggsy lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and carries on with it to the parts all three of them remember. He resolutely ignores the ache in his chest at the thought of the fourth person that should be here at the table with them.

The next day, once he’s sure his mum and little Daisy are safe and settled into their fully-furnished, Kingsman-issued house, he’s back at HQ preparing to fly to a factory in Beijing where Valentine’s SIM cards were being produced. Merlin has been working borderline scary hours with how thinly spread they are, dealing with the aftermath of half of the world’s leaders getting their heads blown up in the span of a few minutes. They’re slowly figuring out which agents have been compromised through a combination of surveillance and interrogation, and it’s been shit for morale, but at least three other agents are confirmed to be alive and loyal.

Truthfully, Eggsy’s glad to not have a break in the action. He’d had the option of taking a few days to rest, but he couldn’t stand the thought of sitting around with the world gone to shit, even if his ribs are still fairly bruised. It feels good to put on his clean suit and lace up a new pair of Oxfords, and he looks approvingly at his reflection as he tightens a brand new tie around his throat. The ritual still feels foreign, like he’s playing dress-up and doesn’t quite belong, but it’s grounding as well — a reminder of the sense of responsibility that has come along with this new life. 

There’s enough going on in Beijing to keep him out on the field for a whole week. By the end of it, he’s apprehended a number of factory managers, shut down the facility, and freed a number of Chinese officials that had been kept hostage, all with Merlin in his ear guiding him through the maze of hallways and cursing under his breath whenever he has a run-in with a group of armed guards or, in one case, a particularly fanatic research assistant with a knife and a serious revenge streak. He’d finally gotten to give his signet ring a go, and shit, it was so fucking cool.

Merlin is still managing to grow on him with each passing day. There’s been some sort of unspoken agreement between them to keep calling him Eggsy instead of what’s stamped on all of the official Kingsman documents he’s received: Galahad. Eggsy is grateful for that, really, because every time he reads that codename he can feel the grief that he is trying so desperately to compartmentalize surge through him, making his whole chest ache, and he really doesn’t want to find out how that would affect, say, a gunfight.

When he’s finally on the plane back to London, he gives Roxy a call to check in, make sure she’s okay, laughing as she complains about one of the American hostages that wouldn’t stop asking her to go for a drink. She was convinced she’d heard Merlin cackle in her earpiece when she shot him with a sleeping dart. When she asks Eggsy how he’s doing, her voice has a hint of concern to it, and so he goes off about the mission and the jet lag and the weird Chinese food he’d had, trying his best to sound lighthearted. Roxy is a smart one though, and knows him well enough by now to see when he’s just running his mouth, and she cuts him off with a soft “Come on, Eggsy.” 

Eggsy just sighs, leaning back in his seat. “M’fine, Rox, okay? Just fucking exhausted is all.”

“I know.” She pauses, and then whispers, "Eggsy, you must know how proud of you Harry would be. How proud of you he was."

Eggsy's done a great job of keeping himself from thinking about Harry this week, thoroughly distracted with work, so it takes him a moment to recover, his throat suddenly feeling tight. “I don’t know, Rox. I don’t think so.” He knows she means well, but he was there in Harry’s bathroom, he saw the fury and obvious disappointment in his eyes, and the mental image is enough to make him feel a little sick. “Rox, I’m gonna go, I’m sorry, I’ll see you in a few hours, kay?"

He hastily disconnects before she can respond, shoving his glasses into the pocket of his jacket, digging his palms into his eyes and trying to keep his breathing even, but it’s no use — there are tears already sliding down his face and stinging when they reach the scrapes and cuts he’s accumulated over the last week. He can’t shake the image of Harry, flat on the pavement in Kentucky, and he lets himself cry for the first time since that fucking day, head falling into his hands. His chest tightens with each sob, mumbling a weak string of "Harry, Harry, fuck, Harry, fuck”, and it’s such a release to be able to finally fall apart that it makes him lightheaded and dizzy, overwhelmed by the fact that he’s gone, he’s really gone. 

It’s a few minutes before Eggsy forces himself to take some deep breaths, sitting up straight and wiping his face with his pocket square, hiccuping a dark laugh as he thinks how absolutely pissed Harry would be if he saw the stained silk, how his brow would crease and his mouth would turn down slightly in disapproval.

He spends the remainder of the flight convincing himself that he’ll get through this, that the tidal wave of grief isn’t going to last, that it will pass with time. He thinks of Michelle and of Daisy and the way his mum looked at him when she knocked Dean on his fucking arse, and he knows that despite it all, he has to keep going. He has to do this for them. They deserve a safe, happy life, and he’s determined to give that to them after all of this time.

Eggsy takes one last deep breath and pulls out his tablet, proceeding to distract himself with some additional Kingsman orientation documents that Merlin had sent his way earlier in the day, covering his spending account and the associated rules. He makes himself focus on how absolutely unreal it will be to have this kind of regular income, and if his heart continues to sink every time he reads the word Galahad, he tries not to let it show. 

*****

Two grueling weeks later, things have calmed down ever so slightly at HQ now that another senior agent, Gawain, has been confirmed as uncompromised. Missions are still coming nonstop with barely any time to pop home between each, and Eggsy is starting to feel like he’s forgotten what being well rested feels like. The workload is beginning to wear on him, but with four agents still completely MIA, there’s nothing to be done about it.

Merlin has it worse. Honestly, if the man had any hair to lose, he’s sure it’d be gone by now, what with everyone constantly on high alert, trust nonexistent all throughout HQ, conversations staying short and sweet with everyone other than Roxy.

Personally, he always knew Chester King was a complete wanker, but he keeps that bit to himself.

Eggsy has just finished breakfast, spending most of it quietly interrogating Roxy about the woman she’s apparently been seeing on and off, insisting that he's quite hurt that he’s just finding out about all of this while she flicks pieces of cereal at his face. He’s headed towards the gym, prepared to have a go on the handlebars, when he is suddenly intercepted by Merlin who looks unusually tense as he clasps a hand around Eggsy’s shoulder and steers him in the direction of the ops room.

“Oy, morning to you too, bruv,” he says with a smile, and when he gets no response, Eggsy feels a knot of unease form in his stomach. He follows silently down the stairs and over to Merlin’s desk, settling into an armchair across from him when it’s offered and bracing himself for whatever was coming.

“Eggsy."

Merlin doesn’t continue for a few long seconds, just stares at him with a frown, and then comes straight out with it.

"Harry is alive."

Eggsy blinks, and suddenly he’s feeling like all of the oxygen has left his lungs. His mouth falls open, a thousand things running through his mind, but all that comes out is a faint noise of confusion, his mind still trying to process the implications of those three words. 

Merlin leans forward, a hand resting gently on Eggsy’s knee. “You heard me, Eggsy. He’s just gotten out of critical care this morning. Quite a bit of swelling in the brain, three reconstructive surgeries to his skull and his eye. Flatlined for a whole minute at one point, actually. His vitals have finally stabilized but he’s on a cocktail of painkillers so I don’t expect him to be in much of a…oy, are you alright, lad?"

Eggsy realizes he’s shaking when Merlin tightens his grip on his knee, and he looks up to meet Merlin’s gaze, trying to find something to say despite feeling like his heart might burst out of his chest. A part of him feels betrayed to only just be hearing about this, wants to be angry for the past three weeks he’s been thinking Harry was off buried somewhere, but he’s too overwhelmed with hope and relief that he can’t do anything other than grip Merlin’s hand tightly with his own.

“Fuck, Merlin, I just… is he gonna be okay? How long is he gonna be out for?"

“He will be okay, yes. It’s a bloody miracle that he’s managed to survive at all, let alone that the bullet didn’t hit his brain. There was so much swelling that it’s hard to be completely sure of the side effects,” he pauses, looking mildly pained. “Things look hopeful, though. I wanted you to know because he’s being transferred to the Kingsman med bay—"

At this, Eggsy sits up straight, eyes wide. “You kiddin’ me? He’s here?"

“He will be here,” Merlin corrects, “in a few hours. I will permit you to visit him once he arrives on one condition: this must remain absolutely confidential."

Eggsy feels like he’s going to laugh and cry all at once at the thought, to be able to see Harry again, alive, at HQ where he belongs.

“Other agents included, you saying?” Eggsy looks at him with confusion. "So wait, why you telling me then?"

“Yes, Eggsy. You see, unfortunately, until Harry is on his feet again his condition must remain a secret even within Kingsman. If some of our agents truly did side with Arthur, we cannot trust that they will not try to… take advantage of the situation.” 

Eggsy swallows. “Yeah, fuck. Okay."

"I’m telling you about this because truthfully, I’m going to need your help until he’s more fully recovered. With nearly every agent out in the field I can’t completely step away from all of this,” he explains with a gesture at the array of monitors on his desk, currently occupied with the glasses feed of what must be Bors as well as a number of complicated looking windows of code.

“Plus, I think you’ve rather earned yourself somewhat of a break from fieldwork after these last few weeks, don’t you agree?"

Eggsy just nods, and he can’t help but smile weakly at that, feeling a huge swell of pride to think that Merlin would trust him with this, that he’s asking for his help.

“Yeah, ‘course, Merlin. Whatever you need,” Eggsy says, and he hopes that he’s succeeding at looking at least remotely calm about all of this. He’s finding that he’d likely do anything at all if it meant getting to stay here and help Harry. 

Merlin nods, looking pleased. “There will be some routine things like monitoring his vitals, giving him his food and medication. Mostly, though, I’ll need you to handle some of my extra work for me. Research assignments, paperwork, that sort of thing." 

Eggsy groans even though he’s now close to grinning as the reality of the situation starts to set in, not able to bring himself to dread it completely. “Well fuck me, bruv. That what you do all day? I’m gonna die of boredom before Harry even wakes up.”

He's not sure, but he thinks he sees a downright evil glint in Merlin’s eyes.  

***

The first thing Harry hears is a steady, high pitched beeping. He thinks fleetingly that perhaps it’s a bomb, and wouldn’t it be lovely if his arms weren’t filled with lead so that he could disarm it? He tries to warn someone, anyone, but his mouth seems to be glued shut as well, and so he lets himself be pulled back into the depths of sleep, hazy and warm. 

The second thing Harry hears is tapping. Someone, or something, is tap-tap-tapping quite quickly. It sounds rather far away, but it doesn’t seem to be stopping. Harry realizes that he isn’t quite sure where he is, and It takes him a few moments to remember how to open his eyes, but then he does, and the sudden flood of light causes him to screw them shut again with a pained noise. 

The tapping stops.

It takes a few moments to adjust, and when he opens his eyes again, Merlin is there, his laptop sitting on a chair beside him, and he’s clearly in a hospital room at Kingsman HQ, which means — oh.  

Merlin’s hand is on his shoulder now, squeezing lightly. “Welcome back, Harry.”  

Harry sits up, memories slowly resurfacing of blood, Valentine, Kentucky. His head feels like — well, like he’s been shot in the face. He sighs and reaches up to rub at his temples to soothe the dull ache, but freezes when his fingers meet a faint scar on the left side.

“Aye, you gave us a right scare, but it’s all healed over,” Merlin explains. Harry continues to trace the lines up past his ear, marveling at how thin the line feels under his fingertips.

“Do you remember what happened, Harry?"

Yes, Merlin, of course I do — I was shot in the head by Valentine, and yet somehow I seem to still be here.  

Harry realizes after a few seconds that his jaw is moving but the words aren’t coming out, and he frowns, trying again. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and it’s with a considerable amount of effort that he manages to force out a “yes”, though it’s more like a “yhh”, and he looks up at Merlin, who is looking back at him knowingly.

What on earth is going on, Merlin? What the bloody hell has happened to me? 

All that comes out is a whh sound, and his concern is replaced with panic, fists clenching the sheets, jaw working uselessly. He’s trying desperately to get the words out, but they don’t come, and in his frustration he fails to notice Merlin reaching out to grip his face, peering into his eyes.

“Harry. Look at me. Calm down."

Haven’t got much choice, do I? he thinks, but doesn’t try to speak, almost afraid to try a third time, so he just continues to stare up at Merlin, brow creased, trying to will the man to answer his questions.

It seems to work, or Merlin is just a perceptive individual, because Merlin immediately launches into an explanation of the gunshot wound, his surgeries, the fact that it’s somehow been four weeks since he was last conscious. By the end of it, Harry’s amazement at his own survival has tripled.  

“So, while the bullet did not pierce your brain, and thank god for that, the swelling has come with some side effects. Headaches, though pain medication will abate that somewhat. More noticeably from your last CT scan, you have suffered some minor damage to the area of your left hemisphere that controls your speech, but with time and effort, you will be able to recover from it.” 

Brain damage. The words sink in slowly, Harry just continuing to stare at Merlin, hoping for more details. Instead he walks to the other side of the room, rummaging in a drawer.

Harry knows that the news — you will recover — should make him feel calmer, but there’s still a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach, and as the minutes go by, he’s finding it increasingly infuriating to not be able to respond, to ask the questions swirling around in his mind. He briefly considers simply yelling at the top of his lungs, but he refrains from such an ungentlemanly display, settling on rubbing at his temples again.

Merlin is back at his side, this time with a black Moleskine notebook and one of Harry’s favourite pens. Harry smiles appreciatively at the gesture, and perhaps Merlin is a mind reader after all.

Harry cracks the spine and turns to the first page, pen in hand, but hesitates, trying to pick just one thing to write down. He could probably fill the page with questions about the past four weeks.

Merlin places a hand on the notebook. “Now, I want you to have this to make life easier for the time being, but I need you to promise me that you will still try to speak. Improvement can only come with practice. I’ve got a number of exercises for you to work on, but just regular attempts at speech are just important, despite how frustrating they will feel at first."

Harry frowns and scribbles a quick I promise, holding it up for Merlin to see.

This seems to appease him, so Harry begins to write again, torn between his desire for excellent penmanship and how desperately he wants information. 

Exercises?

Tell me what happened to Valentine.

“Oy, you’re going to keep me here all night, aren’t you?” 

Harry just smiles innocently. 

Merlin pulls his chair closer to the bed so that he can sit level with Harry. “I’ll tell you all about it if you if you can try to say something for me, okay? Much of what will help you improve is practicing words, repetition exercises, so it’s best to start with simple words like yes and no."

Harry sighs and nods, sitting up a little straighter in bed as he focuses on the words. The first few tries are just clicking of the tongue, but after a minute he’s able to make something of a yhh sound, and he has to force himself to take a breath, patience already fading.

“That’s good, Harry. Try it again."

Harry rubs his jaw, as though massaging it could somehow loosen the syllables trapped within his throat, and tries a few more times. After another couple of maddening attempts, each one getting a touch louder, he finally shouts out a firm, reasonably clear “Yes!” and gasps, not quite believing it. “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” he repeats, feeling the familiar way his mouth forms the word.

“See? Already making strides.” Merlin is grinning and it’s such a relief to have made tangible progress so quickly, even if it is such a simple utterance. “Fantastic.” He squeezes Harry’s knee as he says this, and it’s hard not to feel a bit better with such a reassuring presence by his side.

“That’s one kind of exercise we’ll work on with you. Others involve working your muscles, which we will have to save until you’re a wee bit stronger, but I’m sensing that will be sooner rather than later."

Harry goes to reach for his pen, but Merlin bats his hand away, giving him a pointed look. Harry glares right back, huffing out a breath as he closes his eyes and tries to focus on what he wants to say.

He’s going for We?, and after a few stretches of his jaw, says something more like Whay?, which is close enough.

“Yes. Myself and Eggsy — we’re the only two who know that you’re alive right now.”

Hearing that name makes Harry's mouth go dry, their confrontation feeling like it was just yesterday, and he has to swallow hard before he can try to speak again. 

It takes a few stammers, his throat muscles tightening like they have a mind of their own, but he’s able to manage a wobbly “Haa is eh?,” and it pains him to realize that it’s taking a great deal of his energy to get his muscles to cooperate, even to this level. Merlin is smiling at him again and nodding excitedly at the effort, so Harry only manages to not frown in return, pulling the notebook towards him meaningfully.

“Eggsy is fine. Sleeping currently — he and I have been taking shifts. He’ll be very pleased to know that you’re up and about.” 

Harry has to bite the inside of his cheek at that — the thought of Eggsy sitting in that chair for hours on end. Likely it’s just another assignment from Merlin, but Harry can’t help but imagine that he would care enough to do so of his own volition, despite where they left off. 

Merlin’s gaze softens for a moment, and then he’s reaching for his laptop, pulling up feeds and reports from V-Day for Harry to review, and he takes them eagerly. 

An hour later, Harry has gone through most of it, heart hammering the entire time even with bits of commentary from Merlin, but his eyes are beginning to droop and he can’t bring himself to argue when Merlin insists that he get some rest.

Harry sinks into his pillow, giving in to the underlying exhaustion he’s felt all evening. He drifts off to the thought of Eggsy, his Eggsy, so lethal and clever and brave, and the pride blossoming in his chest is mixed with relief that now, he’ll have the chance to express it.