#but I’m tryna pull them out of that a bit for inktober

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Day 8 of @bweirdart s inktober prompt list, which is ‘past’.

[daddygraves]

Inktober Day 13. Foolish

Credit to @elletromil  and @zombiisheep for the fic idea.

This fic takes place in an alternate crack universe, (hence the theme, foolish) where Roxy came with Eggsy and Merlin to the Statesman, and Whiskey is the steretypical yeehaw drunk uncle, Tequila the debauchery aficionado and Merlin and Ginger are the platonic besties and mum and dad of all of them. Which I guess makes Champ the grandpa!

Here goes, a full 24hours late! So much for ‘a few hundred words’. @iffy-kanoknit @melisjevisje

•••••••••••••

Eggsy was never into cowboys as a kid.

Like any boy whose dad was a soldier, he'd been starry-eyed over plastic toy guns and figurines of macho, muscled marines. His poor mum had to positively wrestle off his favourite, threadbare camo-print shirt off him each day before bed. And even then, he'd sneak it out of the washing basket and yank it back on when she wasn't looking.

So cowboys weren't very high on his interest list, and naturally, Eggsy never expected to meet one. London was running kind of low on gunslinging, boot wearing Southerners, as it happened. And even when Eggsy pulled off his transformation from rough chav to sleek sav, he thought gentleman spies who saved the world from certain doom and got to kiss princesses were as far as it went.

But as he'd smugly announced to Richmond Valentine, while the megalomanic lay drowning in his own blood, this ain't that kind of movie bruv. Kingsman life was anything but normal, so when HQ got blown sky high by the Golden Circle last month, Eggsy, Merlin, and yesterday, Rox, had ended up becoming quite well acquainted with some cowboys- Statesman, as it turns out, were America's resident breed of spy. All named after alcohol, in typical Yankee fashion.

He's still not that big a fan of cowboys. Especially when said cowboys decide lassoing him and the not-dead object of his unrequited affections together is a perfectly reasonable course of action.

"I'm telling you, Merlin, I'm perfectly fine to be cleared for active duty!" Roxy argues, ponytail swinging wildly as she and the Scottish quartermaster spar yet again over a constant source of argument- her moon-booted leg.

"Lancelot," Merlin returns calmly, not even bothering to look up from his clipboard at Ginger's desk. "Yeh've been out of the infirmary for less than a week, which yeh wouldn't've been in if yeh'd stayed in hospital in London, like the doctor ordered. But no, yeh had to charge onto the first bloody plane t' Kentucky, and caused another stress fracture in yeh leg due t' the cabin pressure."

"Roxy, he's right, honey," Ginger sighs, tapping away at her own computer. She's champing at the bit to start the competition with Merlin- prior to the current argument, there'd been a text ping up on Eggsy's glasses from Roxy. Merlin + Ginger having a hacking competition at 2pm. Let's go?  Any form of distraction while they searched for the Golden Circle was more than welcome- even handlers need time off.

"What was I supposed to do, convalesce in my hospital bed while you go off and hunt down the people that destroyed Kingsman, and killed our colleagues?" the female agent retorts hotly, as both Merlin and Eggsy exclaim "Yes!" frustratedly.  Eggsy loves his best friend, he really does. But he and she both know she's fighting an uphill battle, even if he's the only one willing to admit it.

"What's all this here commotion?" Champ, Statesman's agent-in-chief, moseys into the room, twirling a cigar expertly between his fingers. Two figures follow him in- Agent Whiskey, moustachioed and booted, and Kingsman's own Harry Hart, shaven and suited.

The sight of Harry, living and breathing, walking around unhindered, still knocked the breath from Eggsy's lungs. Too recently, he'd still been wallowing in the swamp-like sludge of unresolved emotions concerning Harry's apparent death. The crushing guilt, the excruciating vice of grief, the sickening self-loathing for his own stupidity, the memory that their last interaction was an argument-

Even now, it made his stomach knot.

"Champ," Roxy acknowledges the silver-haired Southerner briskly. "Please-"

"I wouldn't bother if I were you, darlin," Whiskey drawls, leaning himself against the nearby whitewashed wall. The deep brown eyes beneath the brim of his hat survey the scene unfolding with vague amusement.

"Harry here has just spent the past minute finishin' convincin' Champ here that you ain't going anywhere. Not 'til that here leg," he flicks his eyes to the moon boot strapped over Roxy's grey paintsuit. "Be fully healed up."

But before Roxy can unleash her wrath on Harry, Eggsy chimes in, tearing his eyes from the elder Kingsman finally.

"Harry's right, Rox, s'what I've been tryna tell ya. Ya only just got here, ya not fully healed, all ya gonna do is f-"

"Of course you take his side!" Roxy snaps back at him, indignation and fury clear in her eyes. Oh shit- he should know by now when to pick his battles with her. Hurricane Roxy was not an experience Eggsy enjoyed.

"What's tha supposed to mean?" Eggsy retaliates uncertainly, sneaking a sideways glance at Harry, who is also regarding Roxy with apprehension.

"Oh don't play coy now, boys," Whiskey purrs, raising an eyebrow smugly. Suddenly, the room seems a little too airtight, and far too warm. "You don't think we didn't all see your cute lil' reunion in Harry's room?"

"And can I just say," Agent Tequila, who has so far been silent, sprawled in a chair in the corner, contributes. "Ya'll shoulda see your here face when I pulled up that curtain on Galahad Sr.'s room, when ya first got here." He flicks his chin in Eggsy's direction, before leaning back to fish around in his  jacket pockets for chewing tobacco.

Eggsy and Harry simultaneously erupt into indignant protests.

"What on earth-"

"Oh fuck off, all of ya-"

"Merely happy to see my protege-"

"I just found out he was alive, I fink my response was pretty appropriate-"

"He has a girlfriend-"

Not anymore, he didn't. Eggsy's gut gives a funny twist, but he quickly returns to the issue at hand. But with reflexes faster than the human eye, Whiskey's whip appears in the cowboy's hand. And Eggsy realises a second too late what's about to happen, as he and Harry stand side by side, still spluttering feeble excuses.

It all happens so quickly. The tight cord of the rope yanks the pair of men together instantaneously, so quickly the two bonk heads, and as they teeter on the spot momentarily, a previosuly unseen cupboard door is flicked open by Tequila. Eggsy and Harry only have a second to yowl in protest as a shove sends them toppling into the confines of a dark Statesman broom closet, and the secure click of a lock is heard on the other side.

There's a second of stunned silence. And then the pair of spies begin wriggling and hollering with all their might, bumping against all manner of cleaning items and the door.

"Pipe down in there, ya'll," Champ's voice filters through the light-light crack near the floor, as raucous laughter can be heard. "Merlin and Ginger be about to start the contest."

"Let us the fuck out!" Eggsy roars, as Harry adds peevishly "I second that motion."

"Short answer; no," Whiskey's tone can be heard now, and Eggsy can just picture the fucker inspecting his fingernails casually. "We're all sick to high heaven of ya'll's pining and lovelorn looks. I can't imagine what poor Merlin and Roxy here been having to endure, if we've only had just a taste of it these past few weeks."

The muffled sound of Merlin and Roxy agreeing  with enthusiastic despair only incenses Galahads Jr. and Sr. more.

*******************************************************************************************

There's dead silence in the room, punctuated only by the furious clatter of computer keys being slammed by speedy fingers. Merlin and Ginger are hunchbacks over their keyboards, as the Statesman and Roxy look on nervously.

"How long d'you think it'll take them to give up and just admit it?" Roxy wonders aloud, as muted shouts and thumps still sound against the securely locked door.

"A good while yet, I should think," Champ chuckles, leaning his elbows on the back of Ginger's chair as he squints at the computer screen.

"Don't worry Ginger, ya'll gonna make mincemeat of this Scottish chap."

"Ha," Merlin mutters under his breath, face lit with almost evil glee as he determinedly chips his way through NASA's firewall.

**********************************************************************************************

So no only has Eggsy found himself buddy-buddy with a bunch of cowboys, where his best friend turns up less than a month after an entire mansion fell on her, with nothing but a broken leg to show for it. He finds himself face to face with a very not dead Harry fucking Hart, quite literally, shoved into a very cramped, dark cupboard, where a bottle of cleaning fluid is slowly leaking into his bespoke. Fan-fucking-tastic.

His shoulder's starting to get sore from ramming it against the sturdy, unmoving door. But nothing could compare to the sheer shattering feeling of when he'd found Harry alive, in that white padded room, and no trace of recognition had flitted across the slightly lined face of his former mentor.

Yep. Eggsy's in love with Harry. Of course he fucking is, as if shit couldn't get more complicated. Especially since he has, or used to have,  a fucking girlfriend. But more on that later.

"Eggsy, enough."

"No!" Eggsy shouts at Harry utterly focused on ramming the door down with every ounce of strength he had left in him. He couldn't stay in here with Harry, he couldn't, it was too difficult-

"Eggsy, you are going to hurt yourself." Harry's tone is somehow so much calmer than it had been just moment earlier. "An injury would mean you were off the assignment, which we cannot afford. Please, stop."

Eggsy pauses, considering Harry's words. Giving the door one final whack, having no effect, he leans back against some very uncomfortable shelving. Which is hard to do, considering every movement he makes brings Harry with him, due to the sheer lack of space.

"They'll give it up eventually," Harry reassures him. But the elder spy seems ever so careful not to reveal any particular inclination or otherwise towards Eggsy.

Hmm.

*******************************************************************************************

"Ya'll want some dinner?" Tequila declares to the small gathering some hours later, still huddled around the computers. "This shit is takin' ages, makes a man work up an appetite."

"You've literally done nothing, Tequila," Ginger exclaims, but there's no bite in her words. "Do you want to swap with me and have a crack at finding NASA's correspondence with aliens?"

"Naw, I'm fine," Tequila brushes her off, getting to his feet. "They'd delete all that shit anyways."

"Ya'll want KFC?"

There's a chorus of 'yeah', and the youngest Statesman saunters out.

Champ exhales quietly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "He's got smarts when he's on a mission, but that kid's brains wouldn't amount t' a hill o' beans."

"Funny that," Merlin interjects, completely focused on the task at hand. "Ginger's tech skills amount to about the same."

"Oh I cannot wait to wipe the floor with you, Merlin," the woman shoots back in good humour. "After the files I had to extract from the Pentagon last year, this is a goddamn cakewalk."

*******************************************************************************************

"Merlin." Harry's voice is loud enough within the tight confines of the cupboard that Eggsy is sure the tech whiz would've heard them.

"Not now, 'Arry. I'm busy. Stop texting me with your glasses, I'm tryin' to win a bottle of whisky."

"Merlin," Harry draws out the 'i', sounding almost whiney. "You wouldn't leave your oldest friend locked in a cupboard, would you?"

"I'm sure he would, given the amount of whinging you saddle him with about Eggsy." Whiskey japes.

What?

"Oi," Eggsy cries, straightening and staring Harry down accusingly. The older man has the decency to look slightly guilty, under the limited light the door frame provided. "Why're ya whinging 'bout me for?"

"It's not whinging," Harry protests somewhat feebly, staring at the ground, but Eggsy's right pissed off now.

"If anything, it's me who should be doing the whingin', eh? I'm the one you left behind, to go play the hero here!"

Harry's face changes, and Eggsy can just tell the taller man's hackles are finally up. Good. Let him suffer for a bit too.

"If you'd simply done as I asked, Eggsy, and completed all the tests, as instructed, we wouldn't've had a row. But to suggest I had your father stuffed, inside my house?!-"

Eggsy doesn't give a shit that he's interrupting, and that will only add fuel to Harry's already dangerous tone. "I said tha' shit in anger, bruv! Ya called me back with that cab like a dog on a fuckin' leash. And what 'bout ya sayin' that everything ya did for me was 'bout my dad anyways?"

He's sailing into dangerously emotional territory here, but Eggsy has really lost all his fucks to give. "Didn't I mean anything t' you?"

"You could not be further from the truth."

Harry's icy tone makes Eggsy revert to sulky silence.

"This is utterly fucking ridiculous," Harry sighs a short while later, rubbing his temples with both hands. His elbow nearly catches Eggsy in the face, and the slow sounds of enthusiasm and can be heard outside in the room, cheering Merlin and Ginger on. There's also the smell of fried chicken, wafting deliciously into the cupboard, and Eggsy's stomach lets out a rumble.

"Do you remember our breakfast, the day before your final test?" Harry asks suddenly, looking at Eggsy with interest. All anger has melted from his chestnut eyes.

"'Course I do," Eggsy mumbles, over the growing hubub outside. That morning was one of the few precious memories he had with Harry, and not one he was likely to forget.

"M'so sorry, Harry. 'Bout your house. It's all my fault."

"Nonsense, Eggsy," Harry placates him, even as the younger man protests.

"All ya furniture, Mr Pickle,-"

"Houses and antique furniture, even butterflies," Harry argues patiently, yet determinedly. "Theyre are all replaceable,. Mr Pickle is ingrained firmly into my memory, too. Even if he isn't sitting in my lavatory, he will always be in my heart."

There's silence again, apart from cheering, as both men consider Harry's words. "Now what I truly couldn't bear, would be being locked inside that awful padded room for the rest of my days, with no one to rescue me. As terrible as it sounds, without everything we've lost, you never would have found me again. So in a way, I must be grateful for all these tragedies. Because without them, I may never have remembered."

"The thought of not remembering such a large portion of my life- Kingsman, Melrin, you-" an unconscious shudder wracks Harry, jostling Eggsy in the small space. "It's unimaginable."

"But even if I didn't know you, during my period of amnesia..." Harry's voice trails off, and Eggsy meets his gaze again. "I wanted to."

Was there some hidden message behind Harry's words, that's flying right over Eggsy's head?

Maybe his should just come out with it. His conscience is nudging him every so gently, trying to build a scrap of confidence within him. When was Eggsy ever going to get the chance to tell Harry how he felt, in a private, dark cupboard, ever again?

Harry's arm knocks something, which makes a metallic souding rattle. Fumbling around in the dark corner of the cupboard, he suddenly cautiously brandishes a crowbar, of all things.

"Finally."

But as Harry squeezes his arm past to begin his assault on the cupboard door, something makes Eggsy catch the elder spy's muscular arm in hand.

"Harry, wait!"

The taller of the two freezes, looking to Eggsy questioningly.

"Yes?"

It all just comes out in a fumbling, mad rush, like water out of a spilt jug.

"Look this is really fuckin' awkward an' weird an- oh fuck it, I'm in love wif' ya and I don't know what-"

"What?" Harry's face is a beacon of astonishment. "What on earth?!- Your girlfriend?- you have-"

"No actually, I don't." Eggsy's breathing is shallow, and his palms are shaking, but he clenches them into fists. If he doesn't get this all out and over with now, he never will. He'll never be able to move on if he doesn't shoot straight and sharp, and tell this stupid, oblivious man how arse over tits for him Eggsy is. "We broke up, like we shouldve done months ago. Because she was only ever a distraction, as bad as that sounds, cos' you were dead, an' I was tryin' to get over you-"

Harry immediately tries to interject with urgency, and Eggsy is suddenly glad the chaos outside over the hacking race means no one can hear them.

"No. Shut up, ok, shut up. I'm trying to tell ya how I feel, I've been in love with ya since ya bailed me out of Holborn, if I dont say this now I'll never get the courage to do it again, because ya a tall, gorgeous fucking spy, who's literally sex on legs, I know ya don't love me back, this'll be real awkward once we bust open that door,  but I get it it's all good, I'll leave you be, cos ya in love w me dad or somethin-"

"Don't you dare".

Harry Hart, chest heaving, spits, and shocks Eggsy into silence with nothing but a burning look. Something that vaguely sounds like a squeak leaves Eggsy's chest, and he's abruptly aware of how close they have been, this whole time in the matchbox of a cupboard, chests touching.

"Don't you dare go and leave me again, Gary Eggsy Unwin. Because, if you would ever let me finish, I am not in love with your father."

Eggsy's bewilderment is clearly plastered upon his face, because Harry sighs heavily, and with frustration, ignoring the apparent stadium full of football fans hollering outside. He lays those massive, elegant hands of his on Eggsy's shoulders for emphasis.

"I am hopelessly and utterly in love with you, you gigantic pillock".

Oh my God. This had to be a dream, Eggsy thinks faintly, as this beautiful ray of numbness fills his brain. He was dreaming, he must be, as a slow smile slides across his face.

"Is this the bit where we kiss, then?"

******************************************************************************************

"Go, Merlin, go!" Roxy screeches, hands pressed to her mouth in tights fists of anticipation, as Merlin and Ginger thunder down the home stretch of their race, hands a blur of slamming keys.

"Geddim', Ginger!" Champ howls, Tequila and Whiskey echoing the sentiments of encouragement, as both quartermasters clatter away, slit-eyed and teeth-gritting.

"Yes!" The choppy bob shoves her roller chair away from the desk, arms raised in victory, and is immediately drawn into a jumping circle of victory by her Statesman colleagues, whooping and hooting. Merlin graciously bows his head, Roxy placing a comforting arm on his shoulder, as the two amusedly observe the scene of celebration. Until a lightbulb goes off in the resident Lancelot's head.

"Time to let them out I think," she utters, and in a few short steps, arrives at the cupboard door, and flicks the latch open.

Galahad Jr. and Sr. emerge from the confines of the dark cupboard, with just as much grace as they entered it. But this time, their embrace, which makes both men topple to the floor humiliatingly, seems utterly consensual.

And now it's Roxy and Merlin's turn to join the celebrations, as their best friends pick themselves off the floor, but link hands, smiling a little bashfully.

"You owe me a hundred quid, Ginger!" Merlin announces with relish, reclining in his chair.

"Not 'til I get my bottle of this supposedly amazing scotch whiskey, minus the e, for kicking your ass in hacking."