#The Merlin one is going to celebrate its two-year anniversary round Christmas

[oldtvandcomics]

“Sunk-cost fallacy”, but for half-written fanfictions.

[crowleyaj]

A Case of Rare Generosity

So I’m back to posting my 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge works (one per day). Hella late, I know. At least I wrote it on time if nothing. 

Hartwin. The Kingsmen visit the dog shelter their dogs come from on Christmas.

He did not think it was a good idea. Except, it was. As a matter of fact, he has thought of an excellent way to spend the holidays and actually do something beneficial for the world without even realising it.  

Because Christmas was exactly the time to do something selfless. And who else could throw away all concern for a tiny little moment and be of requisite help than Kingsman agents, men and women whose job was to save people – especially when the second anniversary of the horrible occurrences of V-Day approached?

So yeah, it was a brilliant idea. It came from Eggsy’s heart, after all.

 Ever since he has pulled JB out of that cage during the training, he has come to love dogs; refusing to shoot his loyal friend was an undeniable proof of so. And as he became Galahad, he has developed huge interest in the puppies given to Kingsman candidates to train. He has learnt where they came from, and decided to pay the place a visit.

Which was basically how have he, Arthur, Lancelot, Percival, and freshly chosen Tristan found themselves sitting in one of the Kingsman-issued black cabs and heading to a dog shelter on Boxing Day.

It was only the five of them, because few agents were on missions despite Christmas, and the few ones lucky enough to have a home and family spent the holidays with them, celebrating.

Merlin had to stay in HQ and conduct the missions, the responsible Quartermaster bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders he was. However, he still could listen to them on the comms. 

On the floor among the agents’ legs, there lay several large sacks of dog food, some biscuits, and toys. All those things, and a cheque for £6,000, represented belated holiday gifts for stray, mistreated, or abandoned dogs and the altruistic people who took care of them 365 days in a year.

It was no random shelter, though; it was the one affiliated to the secret service, where only the luckiest, nicest, most fearless dogs could find a home from where they were later – after absolving a thorough training – distributed to the agency, had they not found an owner sooner.

The cab plodded on the cobbles of busy streets, making everyone rock from side to side. Eggsy faced the floor, and held Harry’s hand. Everyone refrained from talking for the most of the time.

Eggsy would bring JB too, so he could meet other friends than the stuffed corpse of Mr Pickle, but Harry has stopped him from doing so. He argued that, unlike the visit per se, wouldn’t be a bright idea. For reasons.

Besides, once a recruit became a knight, bringing their dogs to work was no longer allowed (unless granted exceptional permission by the king, which did not happen now).

“Thanks for doing this.” It rolled in his mind for long enough.

He looked up. Roxy’s face shone with pleasure of doing something good for the mute friends, and Percival currently texted someone on his mobile – or kept in check with one of the abroad missions, who could tell. More like the latter, since he frowned.  

“I appreciate it, really.” He smiled minutely. His best friend returned the smile. Then, she leant over her uncle’s shoulder, and whispered something that deepened the man’s frown. It did concern a mission. A friend’s mission going tits up, apparently.

That was another reason why was visiting the dogs a good idea. They could all forget for a little while.

“Of course, darling,” Harry replied in need to fill the silence, and in need to raise his partner’s spirit. He turned his head to him. Both Eggsy and the other agents were used to the occasional terms of endearment among the two them by now. “I think we need the dogs more than they need us.”

That they did. Arthur was honest, at least.

The rest of the ride was accompanied by intermittent but steady updates on a Kingsman-Statesman cooperative mission in DC regarding set-off bombs in the White House and attempted assassination of the President (if it were up to them, they wouldn’t save the man, but as agents, they were obliged to do so). The atmosphere was dense.

 Favourably, the traffic was relatively smooth, so they arrived to their destination in approximately twenty minutes. They were welcomed by a strong blow of wind in their faces that sent shivers down their spine even though they were born and raised by windy English winters.

The owner, Mrs Creston, a corpulent lady in her best years, awaited them at the threshold. Seeing the familiar faces, she smiled, but her eyes were full of concern. Taking care of so many poor animals was an immense responsibility.

“Good morning!” she greeted them. When she sighted the bags of food and toys they were pulling out of the cars, the cheerful voice powered stronger by all the Christmas spirit within her whispered miracles existed after all.

She was unaware of the circumstances of the visit and the glum spark behind the accustomed smiles. “So good to see you all here, come on in!”

Mrs Creston opened the main door for the Kingsmen. They could hear deep, throaty barking of older, bigger dogs and pups’ high woofing in the background. The dogs knew of their arrival sooner than the owner’s husband, who has just returned from the backyard. It conjured a shy but sincere smile on Eggsy’s face.

Mr Creston shook Harry’s hand. “Good morning, Mr Hart! I see you’ve brought your colleagues – the more the merrier, aye?”

“Indeed.”

“And we also brought lots of gifts,” added Roxy. She held two 10kg packets of pork and turkey granules – impressive for such a young, fragile girl. But of course, she was no more fragile than a gun she killed and wounded her enemies with.

“Come, come, we don’t wanna waste your precious time, aye, Mathilda? Our doggies can’t wait to say hello to such honoured guests, especially on this day,” he said, face bright, traces of Scottish accent shining through his kind words. “And give me something, lass, you’re not carrying all that yourself.”

He took one of the dog food sacks from Roxy, who thanked him for it, and followed by his wife, he walked through an open door to the cotes; the agents hot on their heels.

It was the second time Eggsy has visited the shelter, and yet that one thought crossed his mind again: Mr Creston was bald, Scottish, and round Merlin’s age, and as far as he knew, they went along rather well – couldn’t they be related, somehow? Siblings, or cousins?

Neither of them would tell, of course, and that will bug him forever. Or at least until he hacks some files and reads it in them.  

Neither of the dogs was outside, and all of the cotes were occupied by pets of all ages, sizes, and colours. There even were three cats at the back of the room that arrived sometime between this and the last visit.

“We are so thankful for these gifts, truly, you can’t imagine,” Mrs Creston said. Sincere thankfulness reflected in every part of her. They might have had enough money, yet every extra pound was salutary. “We appreciate any support whenever an opportunity occurs, even more so when it’s Christmas.”

“We are always glad to be of help, Mathilda. You know that,” Harry replied warmly, familiarly, assuring.

As the next thing, he asked Percival for a pack of biscuits (safe for dogs!). All of his attention was focused on the furry friends from now on; he loved them as much as his young partner and it was apparent.

It was quite adorable, in its way, how such a badass director of a spy organisation who has survived a bullet to the head and several more injuries lethal to a normal person could suddenly change into a soft daddy offering a biscuit to a poodle puppy. It seemed so to Eggsy, anyway. And to Roxy too, a little bit.

The dog excitedly accepted it from him, and ate it in a twinkling. Of course, its neighbours began to claw at the bars and sniff around for a goody to eat. They wanted one too, so Tristan and Percival gave them, while Eggsy and Roxy spoiled the older dogs with squeaky balls or chewing toys.

Not even their own dogs were as excited as these about a gift.

A small black Rottweiler in whose cage Eggsy put his hand in order to scratch him behind the ears and on his chin actually slobbered on it, and he laughed. The dog was way too delighted.

“Okay, okay, bruv, that’s enough!”

He stood up again, and met Harry, who was about to offer a biscuit to the same Rottweiler. He looked at him with the same look he gave the dogs – happy and cheery and loving. Mindless of dog saliva, he put an arm round the older man’s waist, and rested his head on his chest. He took two biscuits for him – one for his friend and one for himself. He grinned boyishly, eating it.

They have forgotten about the stressful mission for a short while, and the dogs were happy. It was mutually accommodating business, really.

Yeah, it was a brilliant idea after all.

Particularly when Harry did not dismiss Eggsy’s proposal to add one more dog to their little family after the New Year.