#kingsmanfanfic Tumblr posts

[fuckyeahharryhart]

THE ART OF SEDUCTION  PART 2 Harry Hart Fan Fic

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED (Main Fic)

HARRY HART/ ORIGINAL CHARACTER M/F

WARNINGS: Mature, lust, light D/s, sex. Very explicit, but tasteful.

Words: 16800 (it’s very long)

SUMMARY After their initial encounter in the manor lounge, Kingsman quarterly reviews find Harry Hart and Gwendolyn alone together again. This time in Harry's office. What starts out innocently enough turns into a challenge of wills, tradecraft, trust and surrender.

NOTES: This is part of my main series for KINGSMAN 3, but since this is the erotic part that many of us enjoy the most, I decided to also separate it so it's easy to find and read on it's own. If you're looking for the whole story, check out my other fics. Still in progress though.

-----

Harry Hart was a man not easily distracted. If a task required his focus, there was little of the outside world that could pull him away. There was even less temptation in his internal world, where he was the master of his thoughts and emotions. But recently, the image of Gwendolyn, watching her as he pleasured her with only his eyes and the suggestion of his hands, squeezed its way to the forefront of his mind, even with all the walls he put up against it. She made him question the identity he had inhabited for so long he didn’t know if he had the capacity to be anything or anyone else. Was he be a man who could be with a woman half his age? Who happened to be the daughter of his closet colleague? One who had sacrificed himself to save Harry’s life. The thought was unsettling.

An obvious rationale against getting involved was the age difference. He was almost exactly twice her age. Which wouldn’t be inconvenient in all circumstances. But recently, the thought of Gwendolyn watching him when she was younger had him feeling disconcerted. She apparently had spied on him, along with her own father for years. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or disturbed. How old was she when she hacked the Kingsman network? A lot of information, sensitive information had been transmitted through those comms over the years. If she had access to his files, she would know more about him than anyone else on earth. Had she gone through his files? She had never brought up any of its contents. That didn’t mean she hadn’t seen it. The possibility was discomforting.

She had mentioned she young when she started learning computer technology. But she had also mentioned that she wasn’t able to spy on Merlin until she was a teenager. Tracing though her father’s computer network helped her survive her teens. Age difference had less significance when one was almost 60 and thirty. Though some may not find it appropriate, it was essentially, the business between two fully mature adults.

But a thirteen year old girl spying on a 26 year old man? He had never known her at that age. He didn’t even know she existed. But what kind of observations of him had she made at that impressionable age? It was not just a difference in age. It was a difference in maturity and mindset. Gwendolyn mentioned that she had taken a particular interest in Harry because he was her father’s closest colleague. Had she placed him in some kind of surrogate father role? Or was she hanging on to what was no more than a teenage infatuation?

Though by all appearances, Gwendolyn seemed perfectly stable, mentally sound. No evidence of PTSD, no emotional scarring that hindered her personal performance as an agent. She was more taciturn and reserved than most, but same could be said of Harry. She was surprisingly well adjusted for having such a harrowing past.  Was anyone able to adapt that well after that kind of tragedy?

Mostly he feared that she was attracted to him because of displaced feelings for her father. Not that she saw him as a father figure, but perhaps she was filling an emotional void that was left when her father died, using the person who reminded her of her father the most. She certainly didn’t treat him as she would a father. She often seemed to suggest she was interested in Harry beyond a professional relationship. He was finding it harder to resist and at the same time more troubled at the the thought.

He was certain that she was attracted to him. All the signals were there. The subtle touches and physical contact she made. Her hand on his forearm to politely ask for his attention. Fixing his tie if it was crooked or smoothing stray hairs that got caught in the wind. The pleased smile that she always gave him when he appeared. The way she would end up by his side with this tea the way he always prepared it.

Then doubt would creep in. A lack of confidence that he rarely had to contend with. Was she the one initiating contact, or was it he? He couldn’t recall her actually actively seeking him out. He always was the one to come into her space, whether it be running into her on the shooting range, or joining a briefing, or finding her in the sitting room for afternoon tea. She was always the one who was there first. There was no way she could have possibly predicted his location for all of those times. She was an excellent spy, but that was mind reading level. Perhaps he was the one that was making himself available to her.

He knew she was fond of him, respected him, and at times admired him and equally found him exasperating. She was a little bit of a flirt when the mood struck her, but so was Eggsy and he was married. Had she actually made any overt moves that suggested she was interested in him as more than a mentor and a friend? Anything more than the harmless flirtation all the Kingsman engaged in? One would think the agents were ALL sleeping together at times, overhearing some of their conversations. On the rare occasions that she participated in these sessions, he discovered she could throw down as well as the best of them. She had never been that suggestive with him directly.

He prided himself on being a man without internal conflict. A man who did not doubt his words or actions. Then Gwendolyn had appeared, carrying doubt in one hand, conflict in the other, and handed him both.

——

It was late evening at Kingsman HQ. Harry leaned back in his office chair, interlaced his hand behind his head, stretched out his shoulders, unfolded his legs and let himself ease into a slightly less decorous position. It was quarterly review season for Kingsman agents and support staff. That meant long days for everyone, but most of all for him now that he was, in addition to Galahad Sr., part time Arthur as well.  Most everyone had already completed their reviews. The expected issues reared up. The standard responses were given to placate.

How long was Harry going to be playing two roles, Galahad Sr., and Arthur? Weren’t they going to do something about the two Galahad situation? Would agents be assigned new titles since most of table was empty?  Some of the agents had put in request for different names. Would new recruits have to go through the standard process or were they foregoing that tradition because of the dire need for new blood? They had questions about the new faces currently filing spots on the Kingsman’s roster. How long was the cowboy going to stay? It wasn’t going to be permanent, was it? How much sense did it make to have an Agent Tequila at their table of Knights. Shouldn’t he be required to take a new moniker as long as he represented Kingsman? And where did Gwendolyn fit in the scheme of things? Was she the new Merlin? She definitely could be. In time, she could almost be as good as her father. But she was also indispensable in the field as well. Would a new role be created for her? Would they just keep calling her Gwendolyn? Was she a permanent addition? Was she going to be assigned a code name?  The kingsman agents worked best with a grounded foundation. Which had a place for everything and everything had its place. Including all the agents and support staff. An organisation based on decades of tradition, customs and heritage was understandably thrown off when unknown variables suddenly appeared without established roles, boundaries, and expectations.

Harry had his own similar questions as well. He wasn’t sure what to do about Gwendolyn. The last time he had broached the subject of what she was looking for at Kingsman and what her future plans were, he suddenly found himself talking about the details of her next mission he had set up in Portugal. She could skilfully divert almost any conversation in the direction of her choice. It was both charming and exasperating. He was charmed at her skill and exasperated that even he could not resist swerving the conversation in her direction.

She seemed to be wary of any thing that committed her to the future. Not with her work. As an agent, her best work was in planning. But, rather in her personal life. On the occasions that it had come up in conversation, she elegantly avoided talking about her future, what she had planned, what she wanted, or if she had goals for the following years. Most Kingsman were upwardly mobile, looking for advancement. They were ambitious and had designs, targets, aspirations. Whereas Gwendolyn seemed to have little concern for what lay in her future besides the next mission. Harry didn’t know if it was so much living in the present or avoiding future disappointment.

His mind began to wander outside the borders of propriety. The way she looked on the evening they shared in the Kingsman’s lounge took residence in his head. Innocent and seductive simultaneously. Naive yet lustful. It seemed to take up physical space. Moving thoughts aside to make room to stay in the forefront. He desired her. Intensely. She was a study in contradictions. At first glance she seemed like a sweet, lovely young lady. But as he knew first hand she was a skilled operative, an expert in weaponry and tactics, marksmanship, with the ability to think on her feet and engage in even the most unlikely scenarios. Her ability to disengage her emotions in the field would be a stark contrast to her thoughtfulness and kindness in her everyday interactions. Usually reserved and reticent, she could be so direct at times, so forward, that it was unnerving.

He often recalled that night during the times he could not will his arousal away. Rather than satisfying him physically, it seemed to stoke his need for more. Would it ever happen again? Or was it simply a curiosity, an amusing thrill for her that was now satisfied.

He was sitting in his office, long after the other Kingsman agents had gone home, contemplating just that, when she appeared in his doorway.

------

“I was just finishing up.” She help up her last field report. “I emailed you the file. But here’s a printed copy in case you need it.”

Harry held out his hand. Gwendolyn walked across the rug, her heels slightly sinking into the nape and passed the papers across his desk. She wasn’t wearing a Kingsman suit, but she looked very Kingsman nonetheless. The hem of a dark blue and green tartan kilt brushed her legs, the pleats ending just above her knees.  She had matched this with a navy velvet blazer with grosgrain trim, a ruffled white blouse and black court shoes. A navy ribbon was tied around her neck in a small bow, the long ends falling along the front of her blouse. And matching black knee high stockings that he chose to ignore. Her long black hair was done in waves, gathered and pinned at the nape of her neck. Her makeup was, as usual, undetectable, except for a wash of color on her lips. A soft rose red.

He reached for the papers and felt a moment of friction when their fingers grazed. Had she felt the same? He thanked her and set them aside on top of the ever growing stack of reports on the edge of his desk that had found  residence there ever since he had taken over as a temporary Arthur.

He gestured toward the comfortable deep chestnut leather upholstered arm chairs in front of his desk.

“Please, take a seat.”

She walked around to the chair on her right, tucked her kilt under her as not to wrinkle it and sat properly, but comfortably. She smoothed down the front of her blazer. Knees together and slanted to one side, simultaneously elegant and demure.  Her hands were folded lightly over her thighs. She sat up straight with her shoulders back and a firm set to her chin. It reminded him of how she looked that first night, when she was recounting her story.

She looked at him with another one of her inscrutable expressions. Of no significance or consequence. Her face was pleasant, attentive, but revealed absolutely nothing. She could be in her head committing murder or rescuing kittens. She had it down to an art form. She was waiting for him to speak first.

He sighed inwardly. Now that she was here and he had her attention, she had no legitimate reason to leave as this meeting was scheduled in advance and she had nowhere else to be.

“How are you feeling?”

He kept the question purposely vague. Left it open for her to interpret as she would like. He was curious to see what direction she was going to take her answer. All of a sudden, the sight of her, prim and proper in her kilt and blouse, aroused him. He felt himself stir and he adjusted his position accordingly.

“How so?” she asked.

Harry gestured with his hand, palm up and swept it toward her. The floor is yours.

——

She sighed to herself. She was pleased to be seeing him this evening. She had even dressed specifically in the demure, ladylike, but still alluring style that she knew he preferred. Especially with the other agents mostly gone, she would have him without interruption. Often, during meetings in his office, a knock on the door would interrupt them and distract her from whatever part of Harry she decided to concentrate on for that meeting. Whether it be his hands, his eyes, or even the dimples that would appear when he did his half smile of pressing his lips together with amusement. She had once even spent a full hour staring at his forearms, and imagining she could feel them under the wool of his suit. She had purposely scheduled her review for the end of the day, hoping they could have some time without her concentration being broken every five minutes. Maybe even share a drink. Though she hadn’t had a drink with him since the night she tried to play a game of eye contact with him and he played with her, an entirely different game altogether.

Everyone seemed to want to know what she wanted for the future. She would prefer in the future that they stop asking her this question. Plans were an indulgence she had no patience for. She had absolutely no desire to voice a want or a need that she had no control over. Why did everyone seem to insist that she define everything in her life? Define her role, her place in Kingsman. Was she here indefinitely? Define her work. Was she a field agent or was she tech support? Why didn’t she have to wear the Kingsman suit if she didn’t want to. Define her past. And an evening in which she had hoped would include some harmless flirting and maybe staring at his mouth, was now turning into a discussion about her feelings.

Why couldn’t she just do her work and let it be that? She was an exceptional agent and handler. She took after her father when it came to tech support. She had the skills to perform many roles. They couldn’t accept that she had no plans.  She had but one goal, one mission, and she completed it. To get to Kingsman London and take her father’s place. Well, two, if she was being honest. Second, to meet her father’s friend and colleague, Harry Hart. That made two things that she planned and had accomplished.

She was mostly content ensconced in the daily grind that was life as a Kingsman agent. And she had Harry Hart when she wanted someone to share company with. If she was feeling a little more amorous, she was more than satisfied imagining being with him, but only when she was alone in the privacy of her own bed. After he had watched her pretty much imagine herself to climax while he played with his scotch glass like it was her, anything more than the most harmless flirtation, threw her off kilter.

She wasn’t quite sure if this evening would qualify as flirting. It seemed to feature a lot of talking. Perhaps this was Harry’s way of flirting. It was quite exasperating. He was really the only person she would even tolerate, anyway, aside from maybe Eggsy. She didn’t want things to be awkward with him. That other evening definitely fell into the awkward territory. Apparently, her father had also been the same, Not with the awkwardness, the “able to tolerate” part. Otherwise, she was more than happy to let fate lead her where ever it wanted to.

In the meantime, she was satisfied with her work. Now even Harry was asking her to define her feelings. Under the guise of a review. But she knew that he wouldn’t ask an open ended question during a meeting with an agent. Not when he had five more agents waiting in line for their turn. Questions that could be interpreted in many ways were inefficient. She had the feeling he was asking her on a personal, “I’m concerned about you,” Harry level. Not an Arthur, “so let’s get this over with,” supervisor level. She decided to skirt around the subject until she could guide the conversation to a more comfortable place. Preferably over a drink.

“You don’t have to worry about me, sir.”  She equivocated.

“I know that.” He replied. He felt himself stir again when she addressed him as sir . “However, you didn’t answer my question.”

Because your question is stupid, she thought. Instead she said.

“I feel like a drink.” That was easy, she thought. She neatly stood up and walked over to his small bar with the crystal decanter of scotch.

“May I pour you one?”

“I appreciate you offering me my own scotch.” He said with slight sigh. “And that was a very weak diversionary tactic.”

“First of all, I asked whether I could “pour” you a scotch. There is a difference.”

Without a reply from him, she splashed a finger’s worth in a second glass. Walking over toward him, she passed it over the desk as well. Her agitation at being questioned when all she wanted to do was listen to him talk so she could stare at his mouth was making her bristle.

“Second of all,” She clinked her glass against his and then raised her drink. “It worked. It got the job done. Here’s to feeling like a drink.” She took a sip.

“This would be the actual diversionary tactic.” She sat against the arm of one of the chairs. Lightly perched on top she said,

“The last time we shared a scotch was when you were schooling me on the finer points of the art of seduction.”

She felt awkward about the whole episode and she dealt with awkwardness by trying to make the situation more awkward for the offending party. Or in tradecraft terms, Detecting Threats and Preemptively Engaging Attacks.

“How did that make you feel?”

Hmmmm. Harry thought. She was walking a fine line, hoping that if he followed, she could throw him off balance and then direct the conversation toward a topic of her choosing.  A good way hide one’s emotions was by making one’s opponent experience stronger ones. If she believed this train of thought would derail him, then it most likely had her flustered as well. So apparently, it had been on her mind, too.

Harry seemed to be deciding something in his mind. She could see him turning something over, pausing, and turning it over agin. She took another sip of her drink and waited for him to speak.

She admitted that she was being unnecessarily difficult. He probably had a long day after the back to back reviews. He was simply showing concern. She enjoyed spending time with him and would usually look forward to meetings where she could be alone with him. Maybe she was frustrated. She didn’t want to say anything that would jeopardise their relationship, friendship, or whatever he wanted to call it. She just saw them as two people who enjoyed each other’s company in whatever way they wanted to.

His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, a micro expression that said he was looking at something he had been trying to make sense of and finally had. The look added on a firm set to his jaw.

“It would be in our best interest if you locked the door.”

It was a statement. Not posed as a question. She wasn’t sure what to make of this voice. Firm, decisive, a little demanding, a little authoritative. It sounded vaguely familiar. Under different circumstances, she would have automatically asked “Why?” But this evening was filled with little pockets of uncertainty. He was changing her game again. He was seeing her diversionary tactic and raising it, but to what?

For a spy, a room with even just one other person turned it into a potential event. An event was a scenario in which the occurrences could be manipulated or influenced for the agent’s own agenda. This was suddenly feeling like an event. The question was, should she engage? She had been trying to divert him so she wouldn’t have to discuss her feelings or why she didn’t have anything planned for her future. Now he was countering her diversion, but in an unknown direction.

If he just wanted to circle back to the review, it would have been an exasperated, “For goodness sake, Gwendolyn. You have your tipple. Now sit your arse down and answer my bloody questions.”

Whenever she was caught off guard, she always reverted back, remember your training.

-----

“Reading a room” in the spy world was deliberately observing a room to understand the overall emotions and thoughts of the persons in it, i.e. herself and Harry. Her assessment would help her calculate the best method of engagement of the situation in said room, i.e. what was turning into a bizarre agent review session. The art of awareness was the understanding group dynamics in small, confined spaces, i.e. Harry’s office, which was actually quite roomy and well appointed. On-the-fly situational judgments and character assessments from mere moments of observation and interaction. The goal to obtain actionable intel. He was just trying to prove that his diversionary tactic was much more effective than hers. It worked. Now she just felt awkward and uncomfortable.

The problem of using strategy to read the room? It was only Harry Hart. And Harry Hart was impossible to read.

Avoid engagement in unknown situations, she thought. The energy of the room had shifted and she didn’t know what to make of it yet. She pushed off her chair and walked over to the large wooden door. She would play along. She didn’t want to disturb the air by stirring it with further misdirection.

The door was like an anchor, a tether that kept her grounded. A single point of focus she could concentrate on rather than speculating on all the reasons why Harry would ask her to lock the door. Why didn’t he just lock it. Why did he want it locked in the first place. Why did he phrase it “in our best interest”? She need to stop with all the questions, and just act until she had a clearer idea of what Harry was up to.

It was frustrating. She could analyze a life and death situation, narrow down the problem, decide on a course of action, engage with the enemy all under direct threat and then act without hesitation. When she tried that with Harry, aside from the first night they met, she kept on slipping down the rabbit hole of “what if’s”.

Just focus on the door, she thought. The door was carved with an intricate design along the edges. Hmmm. She had never noticed it all the times passing in and out of Harry’s office.  Taking much longer than any spy needs to lock a door, she turned the brass knob above the handle to the right. It made a little click as the locking mechanism fell into place. The tiny sound seemed to echo through the quiet air. Without knowing why, she slid the bolt into place as well.

Could it be possible he was actually upset that she kept disregarding his concern? The last thing she wanted to do was upset Harry. She had always been able to veer around answering his questions if she didn’t feel like the question was a necessity. He had been so tolerant with her episodes of obstinacy. Had she pushed his patience too far? Was he going to scold her in private? Disappointed Harry was worse than upset Harry.

After Harry heard the bolt lock into place, he continued.

“Come over here. Please.”

Though the words were polite, the tone indicated that it was not a request. He spoke with a new inflection. His words carried a note that others most likely would miss. But she had been getting better at discerning the different shades of his voice.

She pressed her lips together. Before she turned around, she wanted to find the right expression. None of them fit. She composed herself the best she could, took a few deep breaths and relaxed her shoulders. She relieved Harry the trouble and scolded herself lightly. They went through so much classified information in this office, she was surprised it wasn’t a vault. Harry was just going to go over sensitive information and needed privacy with no risk of interruption. Whatever she was feeling was just her, not Harry.

Or most likely, she was going to turn around after spending all this time analysing the situation, he was going to smile and say.

Now that is what I would call an effective diversionary tactic.

That would be such a classic Harry Hart thing to do. Believing herself to be more presentable, she turned around and what she saw startled her to the extent that she dropped the small handful of confidence she was able to collect.

-----

Harry was in his white dress shirt and was in the process of rolling up his sleeves. His jacket, set aside on a hanger so as not to wrinkle, hung from a hook on the wall behind him. He was just in the middle of removing his set of gold cufflinks. One of his sleeves was already open at the wrist. The link was sitting on the desk in front of him. After he freed the second link, he picked up the first one and placed them both in a small silver tray. Whose only purpose might be, she thought, to make sure his cufflinks were safe and never separated.

Now this was unexpected. Don’t disturb the air. Determine the before you engage. She talked herself through the walk from the door toward his desk. She paused at the two chairs with a question. He tilted his head in his direction. All the way, it said. He was rolling up one sleeve as she walked.

As she stepped around, he rose from his chair. She met him on his side of the desk. She realised she’d never been in this proximity to Harry in his office. In this space. His space. He was always behind the desk. Agents sat in a chair. Without fail it was business. Always Kingsman.

She stood in front of him as he rolled up his other sleeve. This was as relaxed, “unclothed” as she had ever seen him on Kingsman property. The most relaxed anyone saw him was without his suit coat.  Oh, for fucks sake. He still had his leather shoulder holster on. With a gun in the sheath.

She was slightly unsure, hesitant, watchful. It was rare that she stood so close to him without a legitimate reason, like reaching behind him for more ammunition on Kingsman’s shooting range. Or trying to tip toe for a book at the HQ library, only to have him appear at her side to reach it for her. Personal space didn’t exist in the field when not being seen was a life or death scenario. More than once had they been squeezed together in extremely tight spots. But there has always been a reason. A legitimate and proper reason.

Here, he was just looking at her. She didn’t try to hold his gaze this time, but she didn’t shy away from making eye contact.  I know what that leads to, she thought. Damn her for bringing it up. She let her eyes move where ever they felt like. And they ran up and down the length of Harry Hart.  All of a sudden, she didn’t know what to do with her hands.

“I would like…” he took an undefinable pause. He was deciding on something. Contemplating an idea. He was making a choice. It was as if he needed to complete the thought in his head before he spoke out loud.

He started again, with assurance.

“I would like to bend you over my desk.”

——

She almost choked. 

If she had been drinking, she most definitely would have choked. She almost choked anyway.

What the fuck? Of all of the words that could have come out of his mouth, “I would like to bend you over my desk” had to top the very top of the least likely list. She was completely and utterly caught off guard. A rare sensation for her. She had no trained reaction she could fall back on in this scenario. Her resting heart rate started to rise. A heated flush rushed up to her cheeks. She suddenly doubted herself. Was that really what he said? Or did she just hear him wrong. Did he forget to finish his sentence?

Didn’t he really say, “I would like to bend you over my desk so I can use your body as a unit of measurement to determine the distance from one edge of my desk to the other?

It would have been no less bizarre a request.

Yes, of course she had imagined what it would be like to be with him. What he would do to her, what would he feel like. How he would take her. How could any woman not? He was Harry Hart. But as she knew, shooting under live enemy fire was much different than practice shooting at the range. While she wasn’t under any danger, her body’s response was the same as when she was on her first real mission. It was her fight or flight response. Her automatic physical response to a perceived threat that activated her sympathetic nervous system and triggered an acute stress response that prepared her to fight or flee.

She knew exactly how the fight or flight response worked on a physical level. In this case, Harry was the perceived threat, the catalyst. Upon hearing his command, a sudden rush of hormones began a chain reaction causing the release of adrenaline, which increased her heart rate, blood pressure and breathing rate. It was also however, very similar what the physical body experienced when sexually aroused. At the present moment, she wasn’t sure if she could tell the difference. Not that it mattered. It had the same effect in the end.

She wanted to add a third response, fight, flight, or freeze. She was trained to fight anytime her fight or flight response was activated without hesitation. She knew how to engage with an enemy, depending on the circumstances of the fight. Was it hand to hand combat, a fire fight, urban warfare? She could handle that.  She did not have any training scenario that instructed her on how to engage with Harry Hart when he asked, no, scratch that, when he commanded that she bend over his desk. None whatsoever. Absolutely nothing. She was out on a limb, swinging on all the tiny branches.

The dots were refusing to connect. She was having a very hard time linking the statement she just heard, to the man who said it, to the action it led to. And she was shivering all over. She tried to stop it, but couldn’t and she was very, very anxious about it. Now she knew why earlier she thought that his tone sounded familiar. It was the voice of the man that had sat across from her one evening in the club. Playing what she thought was a silly game of wills. He had a glass of scotch in his hand then, too. He hadn’t said a word during that episode, but if he had, she knew that this is what it he would’ve sounded like. It was Harry’s voice, deep, smooth, powerful, but with an added layer and additional edge.  It was the voice of a man who was going to have sex with her. Statement.

THIS. She remembered. THIS was how he felt that night. He was Harry, but more. Harder, more intense, demanding. And completely assured. And aroused. She was feeling dizzy and trembly as well as anxious now.

Fuck. Scratch that. Holy fucking fuck. Fuck. She added a final one for emphasis. Fuck.

The image, let alone the thought, of her bent over Harry Hart’s desk, him behind her, being taken by Harry Hart, completely rearranged her mind. Nothing was connecting. She, who could control nearly every emotion and resulting physical reaction out on the field, was helpless in his presence. Her imagination could only get as far as being bent over Harry’s desk and then her mind would short circuit.

His mouth was moving. Oh, God, she thought. What is he saying now?

She tried very hard to concentrate on his words, but she was vibrating and didn’t know if his words would land.

“But first,” He said, “I am going to kiss you.” He was looking down at her, curious and amused. “That is, unless you object.”

Her head shook from side to side without any direction from her.  Why would she object? He was only the most perfect, charming gentleman spy and the hottest mentor that she had ever had who was equal parts devastatingly handsome and achingly sexy.

“I can’t hear that.”

What? She thought. Her head shook again before she had the wherewithal to speak out loud.

“I don’t object.” she returned with much more confidence than she felt.

Ohmygod, I am going to be kissed by Harry Hart. The phrase repeated on a quick loop in her head.

No, she thought again, there was nothing that could have prepared her for this as she short circuited again.

——

Harry Hart could tell that nervousness was not usual for her and ascribed her anxiety to both the surprise of the situation and the way it was presented.

He knew that he was to blame for all of that. He had arranged it purposely to do so. His intent was to catch her off guard. Not only off guard, but completely unexpected and totally unprepared. Having your mentor request that you bend over his desk, in his office, in his place of work, was not high on the list of things you expect to happen during an employee review. Especially if your relationship up to that point had been exclusively mentor and colleague. Her bewilderment would prevent her analytical mind from automatically activating and analysing the situation.

She was a secret agent, with work and life experience that could overwhelm a hundred people, let alone one. Her background was steeped in risk, loss, danger, and uncertainty. She had the grit to handle all that life had delivered and come out on the other side. She had the physical control to reduce the effects of shock. It was part her natural resilience, her capacity to adapt, and her training, that conditioned her to act under the most unlikely scenarios.

Part of the exhilaration, frisson, and the charge of being intimate with a new partner was the aspect of the unknown. And if that unknown was unexpected or even slightly shocking, it could elevate the experience. He was certain that a fine dinner and a return back to his flat for an evening of lovemaking would be lovely. But he didn’t want lovely for this evening. There was plenty of time for lovely. One had only a single chance for an unforgettable first time.

He did not know how sexually experienced she was, but from observation he suspected that her experience was not very extensive. First of all, she didn’t seem like the type of person who sought esteem or worth through being sexually desirable or one who found validation through sex. She also didn’t seem like a woman who would find pleasure in sleeping with random people to fulfil a purely physical desire.

All agents could take care of themselves if they found themselves needing physical release for one reason or another. For male agents, he knew that it was an excellent way to fall asleep quickly in the field where every second wasted may be the difference between a successful mission and a failed one. She would have to find her partner interesting and attractive and desirable in some way, or else she would not find the experience pleasurable. Judging from how many people she kept company with, or how little, her standards were very high.

One-night stands were possible. Agents also had a way of charming a person for only a night or an evening. If the chemistry was strong enough, agents most definitely could organise encounters on the side. In his experience, a one night stand was fairly similar to the one before it and the one after it. It didn’t give one enough time to delve into the desires of the other person. Most often, it was a way to find some temporary pleasure and company, if company was even desired. One night stand sex was fairly predictable, making sure whatever technique, position, location had the greatest chance of pleasing both parties, which often were the most standard.

Rarely, if ever, did an agent find someone who they connected with so strongly, intensely and quickly that they could trust them to explore more intimate sexual pleasures.

He found it amusing. Most of Kingsman would be shocked if they knew of his, at times, unconventional views on sex. Gwendolyn obviously was. He enjoyed exploring outside the box in life and in work. Sex was no exception. If both parties were not only in agreement, but in tune and in a space of trust, there was a freedom to be experienced in sex, and there was little he would be opposed to trying with the right partner. But one did not build that brand of trust in a single encounter. It took knowing the other individual on an extremely personal, extremely intimate level.

No agent wanted to seem or feel vulnerable, but to Harry, that was the exhilaration of good sex. It was the only place he would allow himself to feel vulnerable. Vulnerable meant being exposed, open and sensitive. And if that didn’t describe sex, he didn’t know what did. If you knew the fears and desires of a person who was capable of being vulnerable, then the pleasure you could provide them would be unlimited. The most important factor was trust. Something that spies were notoriously bad at. Both at gaining and giving.

He was very attracted to her, sexually and personally. She was equal parts alluring, and seductive, but without effort. She fascinated him. People rarely did. But most of all, as a man who valued his private time and personal space, he found that he sought out her company whenever he had an opportunity. That behaviour was telling. He could picture her in his space, without it feeling like an intrusion. Typically, whenever he had company, no matter how much he may be enjoying himself, there would always be that moment in the evening where he wished his space was his own again.

It felt like she could just be. Be in his space and he would not be bothered by it. Not that she could easily be ignored. The point wasn’t to feel like she wasn’t there at all. It was recognising her presence and not having to feel any kind of demand or expectation for him to do something different or be someone different. Basically, that he could be himself. He could imagine sitting in his favourite chair in his flat, a fine old leather piece, well made, that had held up for years and still had many more years left. He would be reading a book or a newspaper. She would be quite relaxed on the floor with a pile of pillows as that was how she preferred to rest, but near his chair. Close enough where she could bracelet his ankle with her hand, the other hand holding her own book or more likely her smart phone. Close enough where if he let his hand fall over the side of his chair, that he could touch her hair, or cheek and perhaps find her hand brushing against his. Simple touches, not requesting more, not requiring more than just acknowledging the existence of the other person. Companionship. Something he never had truly experienced before.

He sensed this was possible the evening of her little battle of the wills. Well, prior the seduction portion of the evening. She was perfectly comfortable and natural being seated together in silence. He was fairly sure that she had not even spoken a word, though she had communicated much during the time they had shared.

Which was another reason he determined that she had limited sexual experience, but was very sexually open in the right circumstance. That evening helped him decide how he would approach her, how to initiate their engagement, so to speak.

Her surprise when he lifted the challenge up to its proper level suggested that she was fairly new to the game of seduction, or at least in the actual physical practice of the game. He was quite sure she was attracted to him. But most of all, was her willingness to be controlled and allowing him the freedom to control her. That said trust to him. Her reaction betrayed her surprise, but also her desire and her enthusiasm, if not eagerness for the experience. And also, the evidence of her enjoyment that merely the idea of being controlled by Harry, aroused her.

He suspected that she had some slight D/s tendencies, even if she did not consciously recognise it. D/s could be misinterpreted, and often was, but dominance and submission was not exclusively about inflicting or enjoying pain. It was not akin to degradation or humiliation. But it did revolve around humility, or being humble, which was a different affair all together. It was centred on being pleasing ,and thus, giving pleasure and receiving pleasure. If that included pain, well then, it was a mutual understanding. If a man treated a woman well, with respect, if he honoured her and treasured her, there would be little she wouldn’t do to please him. What many people didn’t realise is that the man didn’t choose the woman in D/s relationships, the woman chose the man based on his worthiness.

That encounter led him to believe, as little experience as she may have had, her willingness to stay with the challenge, which some may, feeling embarrassed, would have halted, that she was extreme in ways that she might not recognise. She was certainly extreme in most other aspects of her life. And also, that she had enjoyed herself immensely when faced with an unexpected scenario that surprised her and she was unprepared for. He thought that may have even heightened her response.

The key was, if she was vulnerable, she would be open to receive all of the pleasure he knew he could give her. And seeing her pleasure would be pleasing to him as well.

She may find the situation that he arranged for their first time together extreme and unorthodox, unusual. Her preconceived notions of sex may tell her that this was improper or strange or inappropriate, but he knew, ultimately, that if she allowed him, he could pleasure her in ways that she didn’t even know existed. Just the thought of it aroused him.

He only need to catch her before she was able to put her guard up and behave and react in the way she thought she should, not the way she wanted to. He wanted her to react on a purely instinctual, visceral level. This was one scenario where analysis would work against her, not for her.

He placed his hands to the sides of her face, ever so gently, barely touching, passing smoothly over her features. He could sense the slightest tremor through her entire body. She was still responding on a physical level, not an intellectual one. He didn’t want to give her a chance to think herself out of this situation, so he leaned down and kissed her in the way he wanted to, and in a way he knew she would enjoy.

——

Your knees really do go weak, she thought. With one small step, Harry entered her space. Sexy and commanding in his shirt and shoulder holster. He seemed larger than she remembered. He positively towered over her. Her eyes could not meet his gaze but she knew that he was looking down at her.  He lifted his hands to her face. Each palm cupped the curve of her jaw, lightly, tenderly, almost touching her, but not quite. The warmth of his hands and the heat from her cheeks closed the distance between them. Her skin burned and tingled in anticipation.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she held back a sound that was part sigh, part moan when she felt Harry’s gentle yet firm hands caress her face. His palms, fingertips, knuckles, the back of his hands, traveled every curve and hollow as if memorising her features through touch. He explored her lips, very slowly brushing across her cupids bow with his thumb, barely touching. Gwendolyn couldn't help herself. She parted her lips, her tongue instinctively trying to making contact, before he lightly glided over the soft skin of her cheek.

The wait was excruciating. Harry Hart was going to kiss her. She was going to be kissed Harry Hart. That was her last thought as he bent down and brushed her lips with his own in the most tender of kisses. The contact was soft and warm.

That slightest touch made a shudder run through her body. His hands still gently braced the sides of her face. His hold was exquisite. The anticipation was devastating. His lips parted and his tongue began to press against her with a soft but firm insistence and her mouth opened to him. The woodsy, smokey, slightly sweet taste of scotch still lingered as he kissed more deeply, slowly swirling his tongue around hers. He knew, very well, what he was doing.

Sensation flowed through her entire body, pulses of pleasure reaching every inch of her, prickling her skin. Thousands of synapses were sending messages from Harry’s mouth to hers. They traveled to her brain, which translated her desire in a language her physical body could understand and shot the directive to every last nerve ending.  Hundreds of thousands of electrical connections manifested as lust, as longing, as need. She felt her muscles twitch involuntarily. For this man, she thought, and this man alone. For Harry Hart.

He only had his mouth on hers, his hands on her face and she felt consumed by him. Overwhelmed by him. One of his hands traveled to the nape of her neck and nested his fingers within the twist of hair that was gathered and pinned there. His other hand traveled down her side and pressed into the curve of her waist. Her neck was gently but insistently bent backward. Gwendolyn’s breath caught in her throat. Harry demanded more and she yielded to him, letting his mouth claim hers. His grip tightened, her scalp prickled, but it wasn’t painful. It was just persistent. The room seemed to be spinning in slow motion. She felt herself begin to melt into him.  A shudder ran through her body.

Gwendolyn’s resolve was demolished as his lips crushed hers. She relinquished herself over to him. With a single heady kiss, her self-control was washed away in a flood of passion.

When at last the kiss ended, Gwendolyn’s breath was heavy, her head light, her body trembling. Opening her eyes, time stood still. Gwendolyn saw the corners of his mouth slowly turn into a smile.

She realised their faces were just inches apart. Harry’s golden brown eyes reflected the dim light of his office.  They journeyed along the curves and angles of her face and stopped until she dared to look up and meet him. The warm intensity of his gaze made her heart pound in her chest. Pulsating anxiety mixed with devastating pleasure.

Seconds, minutes, passed as time meant nothing to her. She still didn’t know what to do with her hands. Her hands had hung by her side as if her brain was too occupied with what was happening to her mouth, it didn’t have the capacity to consider what any other part of her should be doing.  She was still afraid to touch him, as if the slightest contact might sear her like dry kindling ready to go up in flames.

As he pulled his face away, his hands were still in place.

“I believe it’s your turn.”

He took her wrists, raised her hands to his face and laid them gently on his skin. “I’ll keep my eyes closed.”

Gwendolyn’s heart was pounding in her chest as she caressed his face as gently as she could. She trailed her trembling fingertips along his strong jaw, down his neck, feeling the beat of his pulse. He was warm. And masculine. Hard muscle under smooth skin. Back up she traversed, tracing his cheekbones, his brow and the wide planes of his forehead. She lowered her hands to his chest, with only her fingertips touching his shirt.

He opened his eyes, staring at her and smiling softly. He reached up and took her hands in both of his. She swallowed again but it was no use. Her mouth was completely dry. She couldn't have spoken even if she knew what to say.

“Now, you may think that door is locked,” he nodded in its direction, “to keep you from leaving. It is not. It’s merely for privacy. You are not bound here by me, nor by anyone else. I want you to be here, because you want to be here. I may have initiated this meeting, but it’s both of us that are needed, consciously, and voluntarily for it to be worthwhile.

“You may stay, or you may leave. I cannot say that I won’t be disappointed, but that is only because you are flawless, and I want you. But my physical needs are not of your concern if you leave. I have stated as clearly as I can, what this evening will entail. There are no repercussions if you chose to leave. There may be another opportunity at a different time. But do not let the future influence what you decide at this moment” his gaze softened in understanding. “Is that not what you believe?”

One of his hands released hers. He reached up to touch her face again. Simultaneously, there was a hardness and a softness in his eyes that was riveting. Arresting. It took her breath away. And when he spoke, his words were all that mattered. His voice dropped, low and intense.

"There is much I want to show you, to tell you, and to be for you. And there is much I want you to be for me.  But that is not up to me. For you, there will always be a choice. So I will ask you now. Would you like to leave? Or would you like to stay.” He added, “And be with me.”

To Gwendolyn, there was no question. This man, always smart in his suit and tie, freshly shaven, …always a gentleman.  His thoughtfulness, his patience and his nature, a kindness that was at the same time gentle and firm... His face, his eyes, his hands strong and capable. His intelligence, dedication, his passion...

It all added up. The answer was obvious.

“I would like to stay. And be with you.”

She felt the strength of his arms, arms that had already been around her for so many different reasons, envelop her now for only one reason. Allowing herself to finally be close to him, she eased herself against him, laying her cheek against his chest. She closed her eyes. She could hear and feel the beating of his heart. It relieved her when it sounded almost as quick as hers. He was affected, too.  He leaned down a little, brushing his cheek lightly against her forehead. Her inhalations carried the scent of his cologne, blended with whatever was essentially him and it was intoxicating. She wrapped her own arms around his torso and she could feel his strength through his familiar white dress shirt.

Harry never failed to amaze and surprise her. She knew that there was more to Harry Hart than the Agent Galahad he presented to the world. She simply hadn't expected the intensity of all of who he was. There was always an undercurrent of harmless flirting. As it was, the Kingsman agents were already uncomfortably close and personal with each other, a little too much for her tastes at times. Other than the evening that she attempted to challenge him to a staring contest, which turned into something quite different, nothing of her experience with him could have prepared her for the Harry Hart she was witnessing this evening.

He was always considerate, proper, polite. A true gentleman. But he was still being a gentleman, she thought, even under these unusual circumstances. Just an extremely forward and sexy one.  She could only judge his actions according to how it made her feel. And so far, everything that he had said and done hadn’t made her want to run out of the room. His words and his actions caused a surge of electricity that flooded her senses, waking every urge, every need, every desire within her.

He was still Harry Hart. He was still a man of integrity. He was just more. But it was so much more he was almost completely different. While Agent Galahad made her feel protected and safe, this Harry made her feel exhilarated in a way that was both thrilling and dangerous. But looking up at him, the familiar benevolence was still there. She could see it in the brown eyes that were staring back at her. Strangely, in spite of the torrent of passion brewing, Gwendolyn felt secure with him. He would look after her. Like he always did. She would let him take the lead.

Harry continued talking to her almost the entire time, explain things so she wouldn’t have to guess. Telling her how he felt and what he thought. In her delirious state she listened to him as if she were in in a waking dream. Aware of everything going on around her, but not being able to react.

He took her hands again and guided her over to the desk. Her heart began to race.  She knew he could feel the shaking in her fingertips. He led her over and first slightly lifted her so she was sitting on the desk, facing him so she could see him as he spoke.

“Regarding the desk. Not as conventional, I must admit, especially for our first time together. But I determined this to be the position that you would enjoy the most and receive the most pleasure. Not that other positions aren’t pleasurable, but I chose this purposefully for you.”

She looked confused.

“I should explain. Please be assured that I will no doubt, find all the ways we will be together, as thrilling as this. Though one must admit, the view, from my perspective lends a certain charm.  Perhaps you think it’s a little impersonal. Not being face to face. I do realise that eye contact adds a bit of intensity to the act. Not to worry.”

He tipped his chin toward the far side of the room.

She turned her head. Fuck. She had forgotten about the mirror next to the door. As exacting that the Kingsman suits were, there was a full length mirror placed next to every door of every office so every agent could make sure he or she was presentable before representing their organisation.

She turned back to face him.

“I will be able to see you, darling. As you will be able to see me. You will also be able to see yourself. And you will also be able to see me watching you. The possibilities are quite endless. I have the suspicion that this is something you will take pleasure in.”

Now this was just too much, she thought. When Harry Hart did something, she had to admit, he sure made it memorable.

Every time she thought that the standard had been set and the situation could not possibly become more intense, something would happen and Harry would level up. She wasn’t sure if she could go up that high. Harry seemed to breathe rare air. He must be breathing something else up where he stood.

He called for her attention.

“This evening should be less talking and more doing. But I want to emphasise that we will be communicating the entire time. I will be watching you, making sure you are ok, that you are enjoying yourself and also looking for ways to pleasure you even more.”

“Do not hide your reactions for fear of judgement or pretend to feel something that you don’t because of expectations you may think I have or that you have for yourself. If you find that you hate what I do with you, you will know right away, and I will know right away.”

He placed her hands on top of her lap and placed his palms on the backs of her hands. He was caressing them reassuringly.

“Now I didn’t select this by random. After observing you for many months, watching your behaviour, listening to you speak, the way you approach your work. And our little encounter in the lounge told me that you would respond more intensely, more physically, more emotionally to a situation that pushed you, that challenged you, that was unexpected. If I was able to catch you unawares, you would be more willing to let yourself explore your own needs and desires.”

Harry was very frank and honest with her.

“Do not fake, do not pretend. You will not be hurting my feelings or offending my manhood or abilities as a lover. I am more than secure in that regard. For some women, no matter how much they may enjoy being taken in this position, they are not able to climax.  If we find that to be the case, I will be able to tell and  I’ll move you in ways you will find more satisfying. If it so happens that release isn’t in the cards this evening... I am also aware that the female orgasm is much more complex than ours. But I am sure we will both enjoy trying and perhaps allow me to opportunity to enhance my repertoire.”

She highly doubted that would be the case, but she was impressed that he was comfortable and at ease enough to bring up a topic that would make most men cringe.

“Also, as I female agent, I understand you are on birth control.”

She nodded. The last thing a female agent needed to be surprised with on the field was her period.

“Being that all Kingsman’s reviews are preceded by a complete physical, I know that I pose no risk to you. Are you the same?”

She nodded again.

“Lastly, that doesn’t mean that you want to be unprotected. I have means here available. I will let it be your choice. A man should be pleased, either way, that it is happening at all. Do you require additional protection?”

She smiled and this time, shook her head.

“This is not me, having you in the way that I want. It is us, being together in a way that enhances the experience, for both of us. One doesn’t work without the other.”

“Do you have any questions that I haven’t addressed? I understand that these are not the most romantic of topics, but I’ve found that if all areas of doubt or uncertainty are handled beforehand, one has that much more freedom to enjoy the experience.”

She shook her head again.

“I want you to relax, trust yourself, and let me help you. Trust me. Trust me to guide you. Would I ever lead you wrong?” His voice was sure. Steady. Firm.

He didn’t just look at her. He saw her. He saw into her and he knew how much he could be for her. And what she could be for him.

“Is this still something you want?”

She nodded. Her nervousness and anxiety eased into something that felt less uncertain, much more natural and just as intense.  All of a sudden, in her head, everything seemed completely normal. He had addressed all her concerns without even needing to be asked. He made it seem like such a reasonable request to ask her to bend over so he could take her over his desk.

“Yes.” She replied.

There was no man that she trusted, nor respected more than Harry Hart. This was just another part of the same man. And Harry Hart was the sum of all his parts

Anxious with excitement, she was less apprehensive and more eager. She had spent the majority of her life avoiding intense emotions, being in control, thinking rather than feeling and it had served her well as an agent, and she thought, in the rest of her life. But here he was, telling her to let go, to feel, to be vulnerable, everything that she had been trained to resist. Even just the idea of being with Harry set her heart pounding, let alone over his desk. It felt thrilling and dangerous and foreign, but she had to admit she had imagined similar scenarios in her head. But she thought them to be fantasy. He was right though. She really had no defence. When she was stripped away of all her uncertainties, as Harry had done, this was what she wanted. He was what she wanted.

All her misgivings were becoming undone, the knot of doubt and uncertainty in her core, slowly coming untied. Its grip loosened by Harry’s considerate words, his understanding gaze, his warm touch, the press of his lips, his strong hands, by his entire being.

She would follow his lead.

—-

He sensed that she was gathering her thoughts. When she looked up at him, she took a deep breath in and a long breath out. Her energy, though still prickling with anticipation was more settled, less scattered. It hold him she was fully present and she was ready. She was looking to him for guidance.

He would take things slowly, with ease and patience. Always aware of his responsibility, not only as a mentor, outside of this space, but as a protector, here, together. He was asking her to expose all that she was, both physically and emotionally. He needed to keep her safe so she had the freedom to let herself, not lose control, but to realise and release all that she was. And the confidence in him to keep her guarded and secure.

He placed the palms of his hands under her own and helped her slide off the desk and onto her feet. With her hands still in his, he bent down and kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger along her hairline breathing in the clean scent of her shampoo and the more complex notes of her perfume and that which was her. The smell was feminine, but not girlish. It was elegant and sophisticated, just as she was. With one last brush of his lips against her own, he kissed her. Pressing his cheek against her hair, he let go of her hands and placed is own about her waist, gently, but deliberately turned her to face his desk. He helped her with her jacket and hung it from a hook behind him. Then just as gently, just as firmly, with one palm between her shoulder blades and the other resting at the small of her back, pressed down on her until she bent over, first from the waist and then hinging from her hips until her entire upper body was lying on the smooth, clean surface of his polished wooden desk. She turned her head to the left, letting her right cheek rest on the wood. She let out a soft sigh.

Never one for rushing, Harry took his time. Making sure there was no hesitation. That the only tension she felt was from anticipation, from desire, and not from doubt or uncertainty.

Also, if something is worth doing, it is worth doing properly. He stepped in behind her, just barely leaning the weight of his hips into her own. He massaged away her misgivings, helping her relax and he rubbed slow circles on her lower back with the palm of his hand. His other hand reached up her spine, searched through her hair for whatever was holding it up. His fingers landed on a pin and he smoothly pulled it out, letting her hair waterfall down around her shoulders. He swept it to one side so he could see her face. Her eyes were closed, her breathing, though still deep, began to slow down to match the motion of his hand.

He was going to move at her pace, only moving forward until her face, her body, her movements told him, not only that she was ready for more, but that she wanted more. His other hand remained at the nape of her neck, massaging the base of her skull more firmly, with consistent pressure, like waves rolling in and out of the sea. She began to roll her neck slightly to one side, he concentrated his movements there. When she turned her head in the opposite direction, turning her head to the right, resting on her left cheek, he worked on the other side.

The hand on her lower back moved in continuous circles, with slightly more pressure. As he was doing this, he continuously leaned a little bit more weight into her. Only by fractions. So slight she may not even be able to tell. Definitely not having her bear the full weight of his body. Simply allowing her to feel his presence behind her, but not actively pressing into her, or be close enough that she could feel his arousal. He was a patient man and he was enjoying himself thoroughly.

He would have been satisfied, well perhaps not physically, with simply massaging her all evening. Then he began to see the signs he had been waiting for. Just the slightest arch of her lower back. It moved her chest into the desk and tilted her hips toward him. He kept his movements the same. Slow and sensuous. Rhythmic. She began to roll her neck out more, gazing straight down with her forehead resting on the desk, before rolling again to the other side. Still he waited. He heard another sigh as he continued to move his hands over her. Her breath began to quicken once more. Then she gave him what he wanted from her. She pushed her hips back, just the smallest bit toward his pelvis, until she was arching and lifting into him, completing their contact. And her hands. When they first began, she rested her arms shoulder height, bent at the elbows, like one does when sleeping face down. Her hands were soft and relaxed. As she leaned back into him, she made little fists and drew her arms under her, so she could bear weight on her forearms, helping to push her back. And still he remained with his smooth firm circles. He wasn’t waiting for her to want him. He was waiting for her to need him.

When she actively began to seek contact by moving her hips toward him with the same circles that he was making on her lower back, he stopped and pulled away from her. But kept his palm on her back, not moving, just a firm downward pressure. Stay still. She started to lift her head and turn back, but he shushed her, murmuring words to sooth her and keep her relaxed. Her body eased back onto the desk and she stilled, though her breath remained fast and heavy.

Once she had done as she was told, he unbuttoned her kilt. Reaching underneath her, he felt for the buttons that secured her tweed kingsman tartan skirt. He felt her tense at this new progression so he spoke low and softly, how beautiful she was, how lovely she looked, to see her on his desk, that seeing her need aroused him. That she was perfect. As he spoke, he unbuttoned the two that secured the waistband. The last one that secured the overlap and lastly, unclasped the large pin that kept the kilt from blowing open. He had worn them before and was very familiar with their placement.

Not until she relaxed again, did he continue to unwrap the skirt from around her body.

“Lift your hips.”

She did so and he pulled the kilt from underneath her. She was lovely. Even more so just half unclothed was extremely arousing. Having her top half clothed only accentuated the bareness of her bottom half. He hardened at the sight of her, over his desk, half naked, simply waiting for him, allowing him to pleasure her and needing that pleasure.

His chair was already pulled out. He grabbed it by the handle and rolled it in front of her, well, behind her.

She lifted her head slightly, turning back at the sound of movement, when she saw that he meant to take a seat. Her eyes widened. He gave her a small half smile, half smirk like she gave him the night of the scotch glass. He spun his finger in a circle. Turn around. She did so, closing her eyes and resting her cheek to one side. Understanding that was she simply to wait, she held still and quiet. There was no doubt or uncertainty on her face by this time. Only desire, only need.

He walked away for a moment to reach the rest of his scotch when he looked back toward her. The sight of her with her eyes closed, her little fists and arms still tucked toward her chest was both breathtaking in its sensuality and heartbreaking in its vulnerability and trust. Taking a swallow of his drink, he set down his glass on the desk to her side, far enough away that it wouldn’t get knocked over if things got a little too heated, but close enough for him to still reach.

She was still covered with a black lace thong, minimal but still covered and her stockings, which he no longer had to ignore. Placing one hand on her hip, he pulled the chair closer underneath him and relaxed into it. He could feel the tremor of her excitement trembling along her thighs. The tiniest shiver continuously ran up and down the length of her legs.

He was confident in his skills as a lover. Years of practice honed his technique, just as it did with the rest of his training. But he sensed that he was going to get just as much pleasure from this as she was going to receive from him.

The smooth palm of his hands ran lightly down from the tops of her hips, over her bottom and down her legs. His fingers traced a line up the inside of her legs and thighs, almost touching her center, barely, like a pulse of air, floating up the line of her backside to the top of her hips. He repeated this movement, with unlimited variations, pausing in certain areas to linger, rubbing soft circles with his thumb, palming her flesh with his entire hand. He would purposefully hover over her core, almost touching every time, but moving on before she could close the space by shifting her hips. He was pleased to find that she was more than wet. Her need left her almost dripping and pulsing as she further open her legs for him. Muscles twitching and contracting involuntary when he skimmed over a sensitive area. She was responding the way he had hoped and expected and he was pleased.

He saw that her desire for contact rise through the almost constant leaning into his touch, his hand, his fingers. He continued to layer sensation upon sensation upon sensation. He rested the side of his face against the back of her thigh. She tensed suddenly at this unexpected change, but again, he just continued to touch and caress and stroke as if nothing had changed and felt her relax back onto the desk. He felt her start again when he added his mouth, his lips, his tongue, but then immediately her surprise transformed into yet again, pulses of desire. Her small moans and sighs were coming at a regular frequency, little cries that told him she was ready for more.

He decided it was time to intensify. Grazing at her opening with the back of his knuckles, wet through the mesh of her thong, he continued to use his mouth just to the side of his hand. Concentrating the sensation to this smaller area, but not specifically giving her the contact that she ultimately desired. He kissed and tongued and sucked the flesh around her, all over, everywhere but there.

Part of the pleasure of sex was the feeling of wanting, the process of asking, begging and the anticipation of waiting, ultimately knowing that gratification will come, but the tension of not knowing when and how, enhanced the wait.

He slid his fingers under the thin waistband of her thong and with aching slowness began to pull them down her hips, over her bottom and half way down her legs, to the top of her stockings. All of her trepidation, hesitation was gone. All that was left was her desire for him. For him to have her in all the ways he wanted and imagined. She let out a stronger moan of anticipation. Her thighs pulled the tiny slip of material tight across the distance between her legs, her need to continue to spread herself wider for him kept them from falling down.

Without the whisper of fabric between them now, he began the brush her lips with his knuckles, circle her with his thumb. At the direct contact, she cried out loudly. The sound of her continued to arouse him, but as he did before, he set his own arousal to the side, not ignoring it, but ignoring the desire to do something with it, to act on it, which would be to take her here and now and simply thrust into her until he came. Rather, he used that power and channeled it into every inch of her that he could possibly reach. His own desire, knowing it would not yet be sated, hummed in the background. He continued to pleasure her with his hands, just as she imagined he had with a glass of scotch in his hand. By her movements and her throaty whine told him that she recognised the movements, she was now literally feeling him with her own body, not just imagining him. When he finally slid a finger inside her, he felt her tense around him. He could feel her wetness grow.

But this time, he added his mouth.

——

Something inside of her had taken over, not only was Harry controlling the waves of heated pleasure crashing over her with increasing intensity, she was responding with a freedom and a willingness to surrender to his expert touch. Not holding back her need for more, to be touched more, to feel more of him. She was fully turned on and if he wanted to take her while she was in a panda suit, she would ask him where she could change. She was open to him and did not hesitate to express what she felt in response to what he was doing to her.

When she realised that he was using his hands, his fingers just like he was the night in the lounge, she was afraid that just the idea of it happening for real, might push her over the edge. Her mind kept flashing back to that evening, and even as she felt his fingers around her, touching her, circling her and then, oh God, finally, slipping into her, she could see his knowing stare, his cockiness at seeing her pleasure. But to see him in her mind and then feeling him behind her was intoxicating. She felt tipsy, like she had too much of Harry Hart, but she still wanted more.

She moved against his hand. She squeezed his finger as he moved it in tiny pulses deep within her. She was crying out with every breath now. Small whimpers of need, moans of pleasure, at times almost screaming with it. She couldn’t help it.

And then she felt something change. Not quite change. She felt something more. Something soft and hot as wet like she was. It was his mouth and she almost died when she realised it. If he didn’t stop what he was doing back there, she was going to come. She could feel it growing like a garden he was tending to with his lips wrapping around her own erect little bud. His velvet tongue sliding into her body, using his mouth, tasting her, devouring her. He was everywhere now. Though his hands, his mouth, his lips and tongue were concentrated on her most sensitive areas, she felt him with every surface of her body, with the tip of every nerve. With the same continuous movements, over and over he continued to suck, rub, circle and pulse, until her body started to tremble and tense and release and tense even more.

Even as her orgasm grew momentum like a wave moving to shore, Harry pulled away before it could crash until he saw that the wave had retreated back into the sea. But he maintained contact with her. He cupped her between her legs with his palm. Not moving, not sexually, but almost like he was hugging her or holding her until she settled. She didn’t have enough time to find it odd before she began to enjoy the pressure and the heat in an almost soothing, calming way. It was a touch that told her he was there.  Just in a very personal way, in a very intimate area.

If she had been standing now and he told her to bend over his desk, she would have hit the wood so hard and fast that she might have knocked herself out. As it was now, her entire being was waiting for it. Asking for it. Begging for it.

She felt him rise from his chair. His hand was still cupping her gently.

“How are you feeling?” He asked. There was a smile in his voice.

If she had the voice to call him a cocky bastard, she would have. Since she didn’t think she could actually form words, she replied with a sigh that turned into a moan.

“Good.” He paused. “Are you prepared to receive me?

Oh, god fuck, why did he have to say it like that?

Just the way he said it made her clench involuntarily. She nodded her head. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her to speak because her throat was so dry she couldn’t make out any words. Luckily, this time, he took her lack of words, more as speechlessness in the moment, rather than reticence about the near future.

There was another whisper of a zipper being pulled down, a rustle of movement.

“So you’re not surprised.” He said.

She was confused for a split second. Surprised by what?

He reached for one of her hands and guided it toward him. She lifted up onto one elbow so she could brace herself. He placed her hand on his erection and then wrapped his hand over hers.

Fuck. She was screaming internally now. I’m touching it! He just put my hand on it. He’s in my hand. I’m holding him! Calling it “it” like she couldn’t even think that she had her palm around that part of him. She wrapped her fingers around as much as she could. Holding him felt like holding an iron bar wrapped in something smooth, pliant and warm. Not just warm. Hot. Her hand was burning. She wasn’t just surprised, she was slightly shocked. He was big. He was more than big. Thick and heavy. Has he been walking around with this the whole time? She had never had something that size inside of her before. Holy shit.

All the adrenaline surged again into her blood stream, her heart beat quickened and her blood poured into her core. What was left flooded her cheeks. Apparently, her body had no doubt she could accommodate a man of his size. Her hips were moving back to take him inside of her. One hand halted the move of her hips.

“Be still.” He said. “Allow me”. It was his way of telling her he was in control.

She stopped, but as she tried to spread her legs even further apart, thinking of the sheer size of him. He didn’t say I couldn’t move this way.

——

Harry didn’t want her moving back onto him. He would penetrate her properly, at the right pace and speed, with the right adjustments so his entry wasn’t painful for her. Women, in their haste, in their desire to please, and their eagerness for more, or excitement at his size, would often try to take him all at once, faster than they were ready for, making the experience unpleasant. It would burn and they would accept it as something to bear through, with the pain still lingering even as most of it subsided. Or men, focused on only their own need, would force themselves into their partner without finesse or technique. It was not that he was huge, he was just larger than average. He felt bigger to them because he knew how to use his properly.

She had shifted her legs wider. He had told her to be still, but he would let that slide since he did want her spread as wide as possible. She was definitely wet enough for both of them. More than enough for him to cover all of him. She cried out very loudly, when she felt him slide, not into her, but along the length of her as he coated himself. He could see that she was trying not to press into him.

Good girl, he thought.

He took his time, finally enjoying her slick hot wetness, the velvety the feel of her against his entire length. His own desire threatened to take over. How quick and simple it would be now. One quick, hard thrust and he would be fully into her. He twitched at the thought, but held fast, thinking, if a man treats a woman properly, he will have all the pleasure he can desire and more.

A gentleman, even during slightly kinky sex, Harry continued to pace himself. After he was just as slick as she was, using one hand to guide himself, the other hand pulled her bottom on one side, pulling her flesh away from her opening, and then the same to the other side. Holding his head firmly against her center, just the slightest pressure making her whimper and moan. He twitched again at the sound. Using his other hand to keep her pulled open, he slowly pressed into her, with a slight downward movement. He didn’t want to surprise her by slipping into the wrong hole. Once he made a little movement, he pulled out and repeated, making sure her skin wasn’t caught and dragged with him. He repeated this movement over and over, making sure she was sufficiently wet the entire time. On one of these pulses, his head slipped fully inside of her and locked into place. He stopped and let her simply feel him inside of her. She writhed before him, obviously stretched wide. He was most likely a size she had never taken before. She was very tight, extremely tight and even still squeezing him even harder, causing him to involuntary move inside of her as well. While he was still, while she was getting used to him inside of her, he took the time to just enjoy her in this space, in this position, being with her like this and being able to witness her surrender. It was truly an exquisite sight. He let his eyes travel over the soft skin of her back, the inward curve of her waist, the swell of her bottom. And the sight of him entering her, seeing her spread wide as she took him inside of her.

When her body began to relax and soften, making sure she was wet, using his hand to pull her open wider until he could push himself farther into her. Stopping when she again, cried out, this time louder, with more arousal, more pleasure, more intensity in her voice. Her spasms were more intense and this time he had to concentrate not to let her push him over his own edge. He kept himself in check, not thinking of something else, not distracting himself, but letting his own desire hum in the background. She had taken most of him. The only furrow in her brow was from pleasure that was close to pain, but not pain itself. He didn’t sense her tense or brace at all.

He glanced forward at the mirror and saw himself taking her. All men should be able to experience a woman like this, be with her in this way. But unfortunately, most men were only concerned with their own needs, never knowing the pleasure that one can receive, the possibilities that exist when a man properly attends to his woman. He always heard complaints about men’s wives or girlfriends, that they didn’t desire sex, or were frigid. He assumed that most men didn’t know how to satisfy a woman, and therefore, left without the opportunity for a true intimate physical relationship.

Simply attuning to the needs of a woman, no matter how reticent or hesitant, if they were assured, listened to, both their words and their actions, felt safe and protected and respected in a man’s company. Like Gwendolyn, could give and receive pleasure most men and women only fantasise about.

When her body told him she was ready, he made his final push into her. She received him like she was a wave on the ocean, her body fluid and relaxed and responsive with no resistance.

Perfect, he thought.

“Gwendolyn.” His own voice was now deep and rough and low. “Look in the mirror.”

When she looked up, he felt her spasm around him. At first she simply gazed at herself like she was an entirely new creature that she had never seen before, unrelated to her. So he pulsed a little within her and as he did so, she watched herself react in pleasure. He did it again. She responded.

He would have continued to move, but he held still with his entire length inside of her. He simply let her experience the intensity of purely having him inside her. Still. Motionless. While she had him inside of her, still looking in the mirror, she looked up at him, seeing everything. The way he stood close behind her, the flex of his forearms as his hands gripped the sides of her hips, his shirt, tie removed, unbuttoned down the front. The way his blood pulsed in the side of his neck, and then up to his face. To his eyes. And this time she caught his gaze and held it. Now her experience was heightened by this additional contact.

Sex wasn’t always about thrusting, hard and fast. Granted there are times when that movement takes precedence, but if that is all a man has under his belt, so to speak, he is denying himself and his partner a whole other world of pleasure. As he expected, just the stillness of him inside her, allowed her to experience him in a way she had never felt anyone else before him. For, through this kind of pairing, for the receiving partner, there is no other sensation that is akin to taking someone inside of them, of being opened and of being filled.

Their eyes were still locked. When she started to subtly roll her hips into him, he spread her one more time, from her bottom and from underneath, between her legs, pushing in so he was in contact with her little bud. Every inch of skin that had the possibly of touching him was firmly connected against him. There was plenty of her wetness to spread all around these areas that touched. With this contact in place, he placed his palms on her outer thighs and closed her legs around him as he pressed into her, his legs now behind and bracing hers. She would be in a better position to instinctively squeeze her knees and thighs together during climax, and have more contact with the front of his body.

Not quite so much thrusting, as it was rocking with her, he pushed against her without pulling out her, never losing the skin to skin contact between the front of his hips and the backs of hers.

She was calling out freely. He was glad it was late and there was no one to hear her except him because she sounded as beautiful as he thought she would. She held his gaze until finally, the pleasure was too much for her that she had to close her eyes. He kept his pace steady, only changing the angle of his movement inside of her, or rotating his hips into her in a circular motion, just as he did with his thumb, but this time with his entire pelvis.

---

Oh my dear god. She thought. Or did she scream it? She couldn’t tell. She was positively panting now. Oh, fuck. Oh, god. She felt as any control over her mind or her body was given over to Harry. She was completely helpless do to anything other than let her entire body tremble as waves of pleasure crashed over her. This time, rather stopping, he rode the waves to intensify them, until her the whole of her began to tense, her grip on to him tighter and her pleasure bore down on her. With one firm and final motion that now she pushed back on to fully, grinding her hips against him. Her orgasm began as she helplessly cried out his name over and over. Tears flowed from the corners of her eyes and dampened her cheeks. She shuddered and arched back against him as she was overcome by a pleasure so intense it was almost painful, almost too much for her to bear. How could she ever have considered walking away from this? From this feeling, from this man. It was unthinkable. She spasmed against him longer and harder than she ever had before. More than she thought was physically possible. And, oh my god, still, it kept coming. She kept coming.

It was Harry. She had no doubt that no other man could have brought her to this level of pleasure, this state of existence, as Harry Hart. Not only because of the things he was doing to her physically, but because of who he was. Because of the man he was. Because it was him she was giving herself to. He was still fully inside of her, pushed up against her as deep as possible. She trembled around his entire length as she writhed in ecstasy. Over, and over and over. She was still crying out his name even as the last swell of unimaginable sensations crashed into her.

-----

When he felt her begin to climax, he thrust fully into her and held himself against her, but he released her hips so she could now move as freely as she wanted to. While she was overcome, he concentrated on her pleasure, how she looked how she moved. How his name sounded on her lips as she screamed because her experience was so intense it needed even another way to find release. The look of pain on her face, that was not from pain, but her desire finally realised fully and completely and thoroughly. He felt her pleasure just as deeply, but he didn’t let himself physically release, not yet. Not until the last spasm wracked through her. Not until she was done. It was a pleasure that was pain for him as well. Even though he wanted to close his eyes against it coursing through him, he kept watch on her, memorising every angle, very curve of her body, every expression on her face.

As she slowed and her body calmed, still inside of her, he folded his body over her own. His chest against her back. His face next to hers. He kissed the side of her face, her cheek, the line of her jaw. He smoothed her hair away from her forehead and rested his mouth there. Her skin was flushed and hot against his lips. He felt the wetness of her tears. Tears that she had never let herself cry in sadness or vulnerability, not in his presence, now dampened her cheeks when she let her self be overcome by him. He rested against her like this for as long as he was able after she had relaxed.

Her eyes remained closed. He brushed the side of her face with the back of his hand. With the intent to move with her permission, he asked.

“And my dear, how are you feeling, now?”

She responded simply, with such emotion, such feeling, the vulnerability and with notes of tenderness that he had never heard from her or ever heard in her voice.  With no defence she simply whispered his name with as much feeling and warmth as a thousand fires.

“Oh, Harry…”

It was all she said. But the sound of his name from her lips, in all of her vulnerability. That it would be his name that she would say first, touched him in a way that he had never been touched. In a place he had never been touched. It said to him, he was here in this moment with her. That, as he knew this experience was not about him, she recognised that her experience was not only her’s alone. That it was also his. And he knew this was the kind of connection that he was always searching for in relationships and in sex, but never felt at this level.

All of this manifested in his body as pleasure. For a man, one of the times he is most vulnerable is during sex. Most men will guard themselves and never achieve the full state of arousal that vulnerability will invite. However, if he is able to express that vulnerability, it will be the purest, most pleasurable sex with the most intense climax he will ever achieve. For Harry, that time was now. The experience was his. Every single fibre of his being, not just his length inside of her began to move both with her and within her again. Her cry only fanned the flame of his desire.

He wanted to feel her skin against his. He reached underneath her to unbutton her blouse. Realising what he wanted she lifted her chest to help him. Harry continued to unbutton the rest of his shirt and flung it to the side as he never did. The same time, Gwendolyn’s blouse slipped over the side of the desk. He leaned completely over her, feeling her nakedness as much with his entire body as he drank it in though his eyes. He slid one arm underneath her, his forearm around her chest, holding her even tighter into him as he pressed his himself into her bare back and shoulders. It was as if the closest he could get was still not close enough. His need was immense and the feel of her, being inside of her overcame him. He let himself thrust into her, giving into her and giving himself to her.

——

This was different, she thought. Harry was different. Even more different, if that was possible. It seemed like the more time she spent with him, the more of him was revealed and every time it was a revelation. He wasn’t simply finishing. This was much more. The feel of him was huge. Not only the part that was inside of her. Whatever he was feeling was huge, for him. When he was giving her pleasure, he remained in complete control. Impressively, so. Not that he wasn’t in control now, but there was a new element, a sensitivity, a receptivity. It was a willingness to receive as well as give. She knew that he enjoyed every moment with her, but this was different from enjoyment. Even more than lust or passion, though those were the physical elements. It felt like devotion. If cherishing someone could take on a physical expression, it would feel like this. She was moved by this even more than when he had his full attention on her physically and mentally. Before, he was making sure she had a wonderful, memorable experience. Now, he just wanted to experience her. Was it that she was losing herself to him? And him in her?

This was being together, she thought, before his movements, the feel of him, the heat of his skin against hers both inside of her and out, both pressing their entire length in to her an against her, carried her off with him. He rocked into her with a brutal passion, making her cries sound from the base of her throat.  His own jaw clenched in silence as she found herself responding just as fiercely, insisting, demanding more from him as she pushed her hips to meet his.

——

His other hand was everywhere. He wanted to feel her beneath his palm, her hair, her neck, her back, her side, her legs, her bottom. And the more he felt, the more he ached for her. The space between them was stormy, tumultuous, both experiencing from each other a pleasure that was so powerful it was almost violent. It wasn’t simply pleasure. A sensation so forceful, so overwhelming, it was at the cusp of unbearable. It was otherworldly. When he pushed her over the edge once more into her climax, as she convulsed helplessly against him, she cried out his name again and again with total abandon, just as fervently as before. The sound of his name from her lips, the way she pulsed around him and against him as she cried out, made him call out his own desire for her. It drove him far, far outside what he thought was his edge and crashed into heights of pleasure that was close to death. Together, they rose up and rode each swell and they came together. Over and over and over far beyond the realm of what they thought possible.

As it was, on that evening, two of the most guarded, reluctant and isolated hearts at Kingsman, lost, and then ultimately found themselves in each other.

----

I pretty much wrote all of my fanfic so I could justify writing this part about Harry Hart taking Gwendolyn over his desk :) Hope you enjoyed! Comments are always soooo appreciated. Especially for a newbie writer. Was it too long? Would it have been better in chapters? Cheers!

[fuckyeahharryhart]

THE ART OF SEDUCTION  PART 2 - UPDATE

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED (MAIN FIC)

Wanted to add this on to Part 2, but tumblr said that it was just too much..Had to add as another post..

------

Harry felt as if he had been broken open. Not only was he vulnerable physically, mentally and emotionally with all of his being, another part of him had been laid bare. The surface of who he was felt burned away, revealing a new unguarded self without the shields that he had held up against anyone who sought more than he had to give.

At times, in the past, he had thought himself incapable of finding love. His hand had been dealt.  One year would pass by, followed by the next and no one would come to stir his heart. Years became decades. And then the decades had almost become a lifetime. Surely, it would have happened, with all the people that he’d met throughout the years. He had experienced affection, fondness, admiration and respect, and yes, lust and desire for the handful of women who had at one point, entered his life.

But he never felt the visceral sensation of wanting more of a person, not just physically, but more of everything. To experience more of them and experience more with them. The idea of revealing who he was to someone was foreign to him. It was the first time he felt compelled to share not only his life, his space, his time, but share more of who he was. The first time he wanted someone to know more about him.

He had spent his life guarding his privacy. Erecting boundaries so he could maintain a proper distance with the world around him and its inhabitance. He could count days worth of time skirting topics that threatened to glimpse inside the stronghold that held his most personal thoughts, feelings, experiences, emotions. He had blocked off countless attempts that tried to push deeper into his life beyond what he offered. The part of his life that was accessible to others, were the parts of his life that were visible, tangible, concrete things. He could share an evening, a dinner, a drink. Sometimes he could even share his bed. But once someone began to pry under the surface, wanting him to share his feelings, his history, his desires, his fears, he knew it was time to move on.  

Part of his disinclination for closeness was his life both as a soldier and a spy. He not only possessed the ability to turn off his emotions at will, but there was also the ability to armour himself against the emotions that others wanted him to recognise in themselves.

Of course he would recognise the emotion, anger, sadness, confusion felt by others, but these feelings failed to rouse in him a comparable response. Some women had wanted to matter more to him. How many times had he been forced into a situation where the only answer he could provide was, “Not as much as you would like me to.” Harry Hart was never one to fake an emotion he did not feel.

All of his relationships and friendships followed a pattern. They always ended. Merlin had been his closest and oldest colleague. His was the most recent loss. The remaining connection that he has was through Eggsy. Eggsy was the last remaining link to his past.

Part of his distance was in self preservation, but there was another aspect to his mindset.

He was in his late fifties, already past the age that most agents never get to reach. Not because they were no longer working. Not because they had retired. But because they had been killed in action. He could not begin to count the number of close calls that he experienced in the past. He had come out of circumstances that others wouldn’t have a prayer escaping. And when he thought the end had finally come for him, one afternoon in Kentucky, telling him his time was up, that all of his cards had been played, he pulled one last ace from his sleeve. Harry Hart had cheated death, too.

One could only skirt death so many times. Being a soldier and being a spy made one very familiar with death and mortality. They were ever present. Harry accepted his mortality long ago and he knew that his end would inevitably come. That it could every time he went on a mission. He was comfortable with his death.

What disturbed him was someone, who was not prepared to lose him, finding him gone suddenly, one day, without warning and unable to cope with the loss, never being able to know where, how or why. With closure never in reach. He did not want to leave behind someone who would grieve his passing. He could not bear the thought of leaving behind a beloved alone. He did not want a beloved to feel the pain of his loss.

Of course his colleagues would mourn, just as Eggsy and Merlin had mourned him when they thought him dead. And now, as he and Eggsy mourned Merlin at his passing. But agents knew what the life of a spy entailed. They were aware and prepared for the sacrifice.

And now here he was. Without ties as he had wanted. He might not be as spry as he was in his twenties, but was still one of the best agents to have ever donned the iconic Kingsman suit. The rigours of the life hadn’t worn him down. Plus, he had decades of experience and knowledge, which at times was even more valuable than physical prowess. However, inevitably, there would come the day when he was not fast enough, his mind not quick enough, his reflexes not immediate enough. When being Harry Hart would not be enough.  

Kingsman would go on without him. Even though he had no heirs, Kingsman would carry on his legacy. If he left someone else behind, outside of their circle, they would have no support to help with the loss. No memorial. Not even a grave to visit if they ever felt alone and needed something physical to represent that he was once a part of their life.

It was a suffering that he did not wish to impose on anyone, let alone someone he loved.

Where did that leave Gwendolyn and himself? The law of averages said that his time would come sooner rather than later and also sooner than hers. She admitted the day she joined them that, like Harry, she was leaving nothing of value behind. If they were to get involved, how would she feel then? Could she face another loss? She was a strong and capable person, one of the strongest that he had ever met. But that was an enormous burden to ask one person to carry. Since she had not officially dedicated herself to Kingsman, the support of the agency was not guaranteed. She was able to operate without a full commitment because he was Arthur and he gave her allowances that in turn gave her the room and space to work in such a way she felt comfortable. It was ironic that commitment made her insecure about her future.

Perhaps her refusal to plan was the same as his refusal to allow anyone to become close to him. A way for them each to hold pain and suffering at bay, whether it be their own or for the ones who could one day love them.

He had dug down far enough into the rabbit hole of “what ifs”. He pulled himself away from his thoughts and dedicated the full of his attention to simply be with her. The scent of her hair, the warmth of her skin underneath him, the feel of her body against his. She was spent. The intensity of the experience had left her in a state just below consciousness. A rest that was not quite sleep.

Carefully, so as not to disturb her, he slowly drew himself from inside of her. All the while he was still firmly against her, pressing soft kisses to the side of her face and hair. A sigh escaped her lips, but her eyes did not open. He wanted her to know that while he was leaving her in one way, he was still fully present, and that he was with her in another.

As gently as he could manage, he gathered her up. Tucking an arm behind her knees wrapping his other around her back and under her own arm, he lifted her off of his desk and held her to his chest. Her head rested gently in the curve of his shoulder.

With quiet steps, he carried her over to his settee. Her presence, her strength, her skill, made him forget how slight she really was. She felt delicate in his arms. Not a word he would associate with her. Unless he was thinking about the shape of her mouth. One of his first thoughts about her, upon seeing her for the first time, was that her mouth was delicate. She had automatically wrapped her arms around his neck which allowed him to spread a knitted ivory throw over the sofa so she wouldn’t be resting on cold leather. Holding her tenderly, he lowered her onto the blanket. Rolling onto her side, she pulled her knees into her chest and drew her elbows to her knees.  One by one, he unfolded a leg so he could remove one of her heels and roll down a stocking, and then the next. When he was done, she curled up again.

A secure little ball. Her hands made little fists underneath her chin. She looked heartbreakingly beautiful to Harry. Perhaps the most beautiful he had ever seen her. Completely natural, and without any shields. No caution, or a look that said she was trying to be strong. Her face was relaxed, without any need to hide an expression she did not want him to read. Her lips were soft. She felt real to him in a way that no other person had before.

He unfolded a second throw, a warm white, which was larger, softer, with a texture like fur and draped it over her entire body from her toe tips that were drawn close to her body, to under her chin so only the glow of her face and the darkness of her hair were visible.  He reached for a pillow for underneath her head. A large one also, with down batting that she could sink into.

Harry knelt down next to her head and simply stroked the side of her face. Making sure that she could feel his presence. She had taken, what was for herself, a great risk, and let herself be vulnerable. She trusted him to guide and protect her and he took his responsibility very seriously. So as long as she was with him and in his space, he would keep her safe. It was an unfamiliar sensation. There were never a great many occasions where he simply desired to just touch a woman in a delicate way, only because he wanted to feel the fragility of her skin, the softness of her hair. It was tender in a way that was both soothing to her, but also for him.

In case she could still hear him, he whispered in a deep, low voice, to make sure she wasn’t alarmed that he might be leaving her alone.

“I will be right back. I’m not going anywhere.”  

He stood up, adjusted himself and walked over to his closet, picking up his shirt and her blouse and skirt and any other articles of clothing were tossed aside on his way there. He removed the rest of his clothing, draping his slacks over the hamper. He pulled on a pair of relaxed drawstring silk trousers meant for lounging and reached for the dark, wine coloured dressing gown along with his slippers. He always had a spare set of essentials kept in his office. Not that he expected to use them for an occasion like this, but one is always best prepared.

He shrugged the robe around him and tied the belt loosely about his waist. He quietly stepped over to the bar and poured a glass of water before returning to Gwendolyn. He set the glass down gently on the end table, on top of a marble coaster. He eased himself onto the sofa, in the space between the top of her head and the arm rest. Feeling him taking a seat with her, she woke up enough to snuggle further up the couch so she could lay her head on his legs. He offered her the glass of water and he held her head as she took a few small sips. After she was finished, she turned to her other side and nestled into Harry’s lap.  He helped her rearrange her pillow and adjusted her blanket so she was comfortable, covered and warm. 

Reaching for a smaller pillow to support his head and neck, he settled in as well. He would rest here with her for the rest of the evening, into the night. Gazing down at her sleeping face, he felt a sudden surge of protectiveness that demanded she never be hurt. He knew it was impossible, but he felt it nonetheless. Kingsman followed the credo that life is only risked to save another. But if faced with a situation where Gwendolyn was in danger, he felt the primal instinct that would drive him to kill or destroy anyone or anything that would cause her harm.

He knew that he would not sleep, but would remain in a state that was rest. Morning would bring whatever it chose to bring. During the time from this moment until the sunrise, he would be with her soley, feel the rise and fall of her chest, the sound of her breath, the weight of her resting on his lap, her stillness when he placed a palm over her hip, or shoulder or hair. Harry would be with her.

[fuckyeahharryhart]

BECAUSE NO ONE ASKED ME, HERE IS MY DISSERTATION ON KINGSMAN THE GOLDEN CIRCLE AND WHY IT DIDN’T HAVE THE SAME MAGIC AS THE SECRET SERVICE

What do we want from a sequel? Personally, I want to see all the characters that I love again. I want them to be true to how they were in the first movie. I want consistency.  I want to know more about them. I want them to build stronger relationships with each other. I want to see them grow. Evolve. Change if they need to. I want good things for them. I want them to be able to face conflicts.

One of the great reasons to have sequels is that we want to see our favorite characters grow and develop.

In TGC, right away, we’ve lost Roxy. More on that later. We lose Merlin. More on THAT later. Right there, they’ve lost so much potential for the third movie. We’ve lost relationships that were meaningful and could have strengthened. So much could have happened within this core group. Their experience could build on experience and add so much history and depth. Their loss wasn’t even handled in a way that really made us feel like it was a crucial point of the movie. It was more like “That sucked, but oh well.” More on THAT, too.

We were introduced to new characters, but no relationships were developed between the Kingsman agents or the Statesman agents. There would be potential to create new relationships to replace the ones that were lost. But that never really happened either. We weren’t given a reason to REALLY care about Statesman. I mean, they were interesting and entertaining. But they weren’t even super helpful in the mission, and they mainly provided the resources that the Kingsman agents needed since the Kingsman HQ was blown up. And they saved Harry.

I can’t really name one close bond between the two agencies. Sure they sent over Tequila in the end, but we don’t even know anything about him other than he’s kind of a bad boy, does drugs and was from “the wrong side of the tracks”. Wouldn’t it have been more interesting if he and Eggsy developed a friendship? Both of them are from the wrong side of the tracks. It would make it more meaningful when Tequila got sick. We were supposed to care about him, but we weren’t even given the chance to. There was so much potential that was not taken advantage of. Basically, we met Tequila, he got sick, got better and then got sent to Kingsman.

There are so many other premises that could have worked for TGC. My main issue with THC it that it didn’t have “heart”. It didn’t have the same emotional impact that TSS did. We were invested in TSS in a way that we’d weren’t in TGC. They set up conflict, introduced new bad guys and new good guys, but there were no relationships between them, we had no particular reason to care about them or what happened to them. There wasn’t anything really behind the show, behind the action. No real character or relationship development. Everything that happened was a plot device or really had nothing to do with the story or the characters at all.

I understand that they wanted to keep things light and fun and entertaining and not be to serious, but that doesn’t mean that the movie can’t have depth and feeling. It was more like a group of kids got together and said “wouldn’t it be cool if we put this in a movie” and tried to build a movie around different scenes rather than starting from the heart. Like “wouldn’t it be cool if someone got tossed in a meat mincer? Or how about an out of control ski lift spins around and then then crashes into a tower? We can show it sliding down the side of a mountain!” And then the kids high five.

My point is that most of the action scenes were sort of superfluous, whereas the action scenes in TSS were crucial or at least connected to the plot or the main characters. Like the car chase scene in the beginning of TGS was cool and fun to watch, but would the movie be the same without it? Kind of. And it certainly didn’t need to be that long or drawn out. They got to show off cool gadgets, which seemed like the only purpose, other than Charlie’s robot arm hacking their computer.

I could start anywhere. So I’ll just start somewhere. Let’s say the beginning.

The movie starts out with Eggsy. He is now a Kingsman agent and seems to have his life together.

Immediately enters Charlie Hesketh, Kingsman reject. He had a beef with Eggsy. There was a huge car chase action scene. Charlie has a robot arm. They both survive and get away.  We get to see some old and new tech. Entertaining to watch,  but no real substance.

Bringing back Charlie would not have been my first choice. He was an asshole in the first movie and he’s more of on asshole in this movie. He had a satisfying comeuppance in the first movie and there were no loose ends in his case. We assume he died with the others from the exploding microchip. He had a complete character arch in TSS. He was established as an upper class asshole. Got kicked out of Kingsman for being a pussy. Still carried a grudge with Eggsy and held him at knife point in Valentine’s lair and ratted him out. Got shocked by Eggsy for his trouble. Assumed deceased and that was fine with us.

Eggsy never did anything mean to Charlie, certainly not enough to warrant serious violence. Apparently, Charlie was that much of an entitled asshole and sore loser that he took his rejection as a blow to his ego, especially being beaten by a pleb like Eggsy. I didn’t like Charlie. We weren’t supposed to like Charlie. We were fine with Charlie dying.

So why would they bring him back?  Well, I suppose it’s a way to link the two movies together. It provides a reason to rehash what happened at the end of TSS for people who did not see it. Introduced some old tech, the electrocuting signet ring, the shoe blade. The car chase was a way to show off all the old and new spy gadgets.

My problem with Charlie right off the bat was that they didn’t give him a reason to come back. How did he and Poppy find each other? How did he get mixed up with their group? We know he doesn’t like Eggsy and the Kingsman, he decides to blow all of them up? Was that Charlie’s idea or Poppy’s idea? Is Kingsman more of a threat to them than any other independent intelligence agency? Charlie no longer lives a life of privilege and considers himself a pleb. He is still bitter about Eggsy beating him.

We have no idea what happened to Charlie between TSS to TGC. We have not been given a reason to invest in him either as a threat or a source of conflict. There’s no complexity to his character. He was an asshole that came back a bigger asshole.

If they wanted to bring back Charlie, wouldn’t it have been more interesting for him to come back as an ally? Who after VDay and losing his family and life as he knows it, decides to change his ways and upon meeting Eggsy and he actually asks for his help? He doesn’t know anywhere else to go but Kingsman. They could  still have a car chase scene with an unknown enemy that attacks Eggsy, but Charlie helps Eggsy against the enemy and they have to work together to survive. Thus proving that Charlie has changed his ways.

BUT- PLOT TWIST - he’s a mole for Poppy to get inside Kingsman to take them out from within. And this is all part of their plan to destroy Kingsman. And then we have to see him struggle with his role as a double agent as he gets to know all the Kingsman better. They are accepting of him in a way he never accepted them when the roles were reversed. He was always just a competitive jerk. So he’s conflicted. And we want to know, well, will he turn out bad or good in the end? And of course, this is all off the top of my head. Just some examples of things that could have been done differently that would have made the movie more interesting (at least to me).

I’m going to be jumping around some and might go off on tangents. Sorry.

In TGC, I didn’t feel like the bad guy brought anything new or different to the table. The issue of a drug cartel taking over the world with hostages was too broad and general. For me, there was no real urgency. Other than blowing up Kingsman, there is no link between Kingsman and the Golden Circle.

Let’s say instead of Charlie, Poppy and the Golden Circle as the bad guys, well, we could still have something like the Golden Circle... but it’s an underground network of bad spies who want to take out all the good intelligence agencies. Like spy vs spy. Could be interesting. One of the problems I have is that the Golden Circle only blew up Kingsman? I’m assuming because Charlie had a beef with them? But what about all the other intelligence agencies around the world? I guess it would make sense if we knew Kingsman was a direct threat to TGC, but Kingsman didn’t even know they existed. My point is that TGC could have done everything they did, release the virus, hold the antidote hostage, without having to blow up Kingsman. Kingsman was not an obstacle that TGC had to get rid of. So for me, it didn’t make any sense. The only reason we have is that Charlie’s fragile ego couldn’t  stand that he was rejected. Would the biggest drug cartel in the world take the risk of blowing up a whole agency over some dudes hurt feelings?

So what are the alternatives? Well, other than double agent Charlie. Let say we have a scenario where Charlie has a little sister who survived VDay. She was on a retreat to save endangered animals on a remote island far from civilization so she was not affected by the SIM card transmissions. She survived to find everything and everyone she loved gone. We’ll call her Kay. Kay was genuinely a good,  kind, sweet person.  But her entire family was killed and she was devastated losing them, particularly her brother. She was the one person who Charlie didn’t treat like an asshole. She loved her big brother and had a close relationship and when he and her family died, her entire life changed. So we learned that Charlie was actually not an asshole ALL of the time and that his soft spot was his little sister. (Eggsy could relate to this as he is protective of his half sister)

So let’s say, she wants revenge. She wants to destroy Kingsman and take down Eggsy, Merlin and Roxy and everything they love. Just like they did to her. There doesn’t even need to be a Poppy. No drug cartel. Let’s bring the threat closer to home. In the first movie it was a “save the world” type situation. How about doing something different for this one? This time, Kingsman is being directly threatened.

Let say a mysterious group of people took Kay in the aftermath of V day, when no one else would. BUT she discovers they are actually an international syndicate- like Kingsman- but for bad instead of good. They can be called the Golden Circle.

Let’s say she’s super smart, both tech wise and with weaponry and she has mad skills that the syndicate can use. So she joins forces with them with an ulterior motive. Even though she doesn’t agree with everything they do, it’s a way for her to have the resources to get her revenge against Kingsman.

Let’s say this group wants to take out all the international intelligence agencies, since they are a threat, starting with Kingsman. The Statesman are next. Kay plans on only staying for Kingsman, so she can take them out and specifically Merlin, Eggs and Roxy. Then she plans on running away on her own. Because, as much as she wants her revenge, she isn’t essentially evil herself. She is just so angry and alone. She’s a complicated character, linked to Kingsman and the plot of the first movie through Charlie, but she presents new challenges. Unlike Charlie, whose issues just rehashed conflict from TSS.

Then there’s so many options from here. I’m just going to brainstorm so stick with me if you want.

Let say, the movie opens with Roxy and Eggsy both coming out of Kingsman, joking around and teasing each other after completing a dangerous mission and want to celebrate. Merlin is on the glasses comms, telling them to behave and not drink to much or get in trouble. They are about to get into the taxi to go get a drink but then Kay comes out holds gun on them with her underworld support. She knows who they are, calls them by both their code names and real names, but they have no idea who she is.

They try to identify her, but as there is no existing reference to her, their first scan comes up with nothing. So they don’t know who she is, they just know she is a threat and she has backup. The car chase and everything can be basically the same, but with Merlin’s help on the comms, they are able to get away.

So the main conflict is that Eggsy, Roxy and Merlin need to find out who is threatening them (the TGC evil syndicate) and at the same time find out specifically who Kay is. They don’t know she is Charlie’s sister yet. They find out later in the debrief where they compare her facial structure to their database and Charlie comes up as a match.

So how does Harry Hart come back into the picture? I’ll get to that soon.

Well, Kay/syndicate blow up all the Kingsman agents, but Roxy, Merlin and Eggsy survive. But now they have no resources. They can do the same doomsday scenario as in the movie,  but Roxy is still alive. (It was horrible how she was killed off for no reason. She deserved better.)

All three survive the explosion. Maybe even because they were doing something fun together, or bickering over something silly, showing how close they’ve become.  This way we can strengthen the relationships between the three of them before anything happens to any of them. I thought the “Roxy as my Best friend and she was killed” plot device was forced. She had a couple lines helping Eggsy with Tilde, and he calls her his best friend and agent. (At this point I’m not even sure if we need Tilde in the picture.) And then Roxy gets blown up. Sucks.

I’d forget about the whole Tilde relationship angle and focus on the friendship between Eggsy and Roxy instead. (Don’t worry, they’ll stay friends. They don’t get into a relationship together.)

There are so many other ways to show they are best friends and agents who rely on each other, so if or when one of them dies, it’s much more meaningful. We feel her loss as Eggsy or Merlin would. Her death in THC was essentially meaningless.

BACK TO THE FILM:

Kingsman HQ and the shop have been blown up. Roxy, Merlin and Eggsy are devastated but Merlin pulls himself together and takes charge. He says that they need to rely on their training. That they’ve lost people they love before and yet they keep on going, to honor their memory, because that’s what a Kingsman does. (Reference to Harry)

They go to the winery, proceed to get drunk, which would be funny with the three of them together, when they discover the Statesman logo on the whiskey bottle and go to Kentucky for help. All that is fine. It can be the same as the movie.

The three of them go to Statesman. They try to break in and are overtaken and tied up by Statesman agents.

This can be all the same as the movie as well. The three of them are tied up and Tequila is questioning them. He’s also flirting with Roxy at the same time because he’s a southern boy. But he still doesn’t believe them.

BUT WAIT!....(READ MY EXCERPT OF FAN FIC ON HOW HARRY RETURNED HERE: https://fuckyeahharryhart.tumblr.com/post/635251512219729920/kingsman-the-golden-circle

KEEP READING HERE IF YOU WANT THE SHORT VERSION:

Ok. I had a real issue with how they brought Harry back. Don’t get me wrong, I am sooo, sooo grateful that they brought him back at all, but the character that he became from the amnesia, for me, was not Harry at all, not even a young Harry.

I know some people liked the soft, timid, shy Harry. And that’s sweet. But he was the antithesis of the Harry I grew to love from the first movie. During the whole TGC movie, I didn’t really get the same energy and presence as the first Harry Hart. (Ok, I know this is kind of Eggsy’s movie, anyway.)

Sure, we got background on what Harry was like when younger. He wanted to become a lepidopterist. He had the choice of being one or joining the army. He joined the army and then Kingsman. This doesn’t really add anything to the film or to Harry personally. I don’t feel like I know him better. I know facts about him. I want to know what was behind the choices he made.

I want to know, why did Harry chose the Army? Did something significant happen that led him down that road? From the film, we know he missed his mother, but doesn’t mention a father. What happened to his father?

Maybe his father was military, and was away for most of his life. His father never understood Harry’s butterfly fascination and hoped that he would follow in his footsteps and become a military man, but loved him and supported him none the less. Let’s say his father was killed in action and that is why Harry joined the army and gave up Lepidoptery. For the memory of his father.  So when he mentions to Merlin that he wants to see “Mother” that is why there is no mention of the father, because he already died.

And then we find out that he relates to Eggsy so much because “what’!?!” Harry lost his own father the same way as Eggsy did! In action, on a mission. BUT, Harry feels even more guilt because HE was the reason Eggsy’s father was killed. It’s his fault that Eggsy had to go through the same loss that he did. So he knows exactly how Eggsy felt. He feels extra responsibility for him and wants to be his mentor and be the father figure neither of them had growing up! Now we understand Harry sooooo much more, what motivates him to be the person he is and the relationship that he has with Eggsy is that much more meaningful.

(WHAT!?! I would soooo watch this movie.)

So, at least it would be helpful to know what happened to Harry’s father. It would give us more motivation on why Harry is the way he is. Our dear Harry Hart. You are so quiet and so brave that we forget you are suffering. Our hearts go out to him. We imagine Harry as a young man who lost his father and joined the army to be close to him and honor him. Sigh.

How much weight has Harry Hart carried with him? Never complaining, never using it as an excuse. We only know through his actions that he wants to make up for his past mistakes. We love him that much more. Underneath his stoic polished exterior lies a young man who lost his father. But he also has to carry the guilt of being the reason another boy lost his own father, as Eggsy’s father was saving Harry’s life, while sacrificing his own.

So back to the movie. Amnesia Harry, to me, was not Harry Hart. I can’t believe this soft, timid man became the brave, sophisticated super spy that he is now. I think it would have been more effective for amnesia Harry to still have qualities of spy Harry, but the amnesia makes him forget KINGSMAN. And it’s painful for Eggsy Roxy and Merlin, because at first, he seems like the Harry they know and love. But to Harry, they are complete strangers. Imagine if your significant other lost the memory of you, but other than that they were still the same person. You had a whole life of memories that you shared. They wouldn’t know that you shared them. What would it be like to be so close to someone, yet at the same time, just out of reach? Harsh.

STAY WITH ME HERE. This is what I would have imagined for the return of Harry Hart. It would be fairly similar to what happened, but with some crucial differences. AGAIN: ONLY IF YOU WANT, REFER TO:

:https://fuckyeahharryhart.tumblr.com/post/635251512219729920/kingsman-the-golden-circle

Let’s go back to the scene where Merlin, Eggsy AND Roxy are tied in chairs getting grilled by Tequila, who is actually flirting with Roxy because that’s who Teauila is. And Roxy is having none of it because that is who she is. This dynamic could be pretty funny, with Eggsy teasing Roxy (but that’s for later).

So all three of them are saying they were only following clues from their doomsday scenario protocol. They lost everything and all they have left is their honor. They are still getting threatened by Tequila. They aren’t budging because that’s the truth, they aren’t lying about the circumstances that brought them to Statesman.

Teauila has to change this up a bit. And what does he do? Threatens to bring in their finest interrogator. Says how this agent is skilled in ways they can’t even imagine. He is not someone that they want to fuck around with. Nothing gets past him. If you don’t tell him what he wants to hear, don’t worry, he will make you. He is definitely someone who they don’t want on their bad side. They still don’t have anything else to say.

Tequila calls in the agent. And who is that agent?

IN WALKS HARRY HART, in all of his secret spy glory!!!! (OMG I WOULD DIE) He’s impeccable in his familiar suit, hair immaculately in place, posture perfect. The only real change are the shaded eyeglasses to protect the eye he lost and the Statesman issue gun he carries. Everything else is exactly the same from his pocket square to his cuff links.

Roxy, Merlin, and Eggsy are mindfucked.  They can’t believe this is THEIR Harry Hart. But Harry doesn’t recognise them, doesn’t remember them AT ALL, as he has lost all of his memory of Kingsman. BUT, he has retained all of his skill and personality as an agent and individual. The only thing different is that he doesn’t remember them.

They are confused and overjoyed at the same time. They don’t even know how to react when they try to get Harry to remember them and he doesn’t. We get all the delicious visuals of Kingsman Harry, but are faced with the fact that he actually doesn’t remember Kingsman at all.

Statesman Harry continues to interrogate them as if they are the unknown quantity and possible enemy, because to him, that’s exactly what they are. They are speechless at this point and don’t know what to do, or how to react, or how to get Harry to believe them. They don’t know how to prove they are who they say they are. They don’t know how to prove that Harry knows them, and that they know Harry.

Harry, not for wasting time, unholsters his revolver and points it at Eggy’s head. Are they ready to talk now? They yell for him to stop, not to shoot, to let them explain. Harry starts  to count down from three, and just as he gets to one, Ginger Ale comes in and throws Harry the umbrella. Their story checks out. Harry inspects the umbrella, sees the statesman’s logo and pauses. He looks over the umbrella turns it over, twirls it in his hands almost in a familiar way. Does it help him remember Kingsman and his friends? It looks like it might. He contemplates the umbrella for a moment, but then he says “not good enough” and aims his revolver at Eggsy and switches off the safety.

Eggsy and the others are beyond panic, when Eggsy throws a Hail Mary. He tried to look at Harrys right hand, but the gun is blocking his view and he doesn’t know for sure, but fuck it, takes the risk and yells to him that Harry wears a signet ring on his right pinkie finger. That gentleman are traditionally supposed to wear it on the left hand. But Harry wears it on his right hand because his right hand is dominant.

THIS makes Harry pause and slowly puts down his gun. Because he does wear a pinkie ring on his right hand. He was wearing it when he was shot and wanted to keep wearing it. He doesn’t know why, just that it feels right to him. He asks Eggsy, “how do you know that?”

“Eggsy says, “Because I’m wearing one too.”

(WHAAAT JUST HAPPENED!!!!????)

Statesman Harry holsters his weapon. He says, “It seems as if we have a lot to discuss.”

Ok, so that’s just an idea I came up with while writing this. Let’s see if I can continue.

Because TGC needed much, much more of the Harry Hart we know and love.

This cuts to the scene where they are in the Statesman HQ dining room. Harry is also there but sits on the Statesman side. Ginger and Tequila are there as well.

Merlin, Roxy and Eggsy sit opposite the Statesman.

They meet Champagne/Champs - who wants to know what’s going on.

Cut to when Ginger explains how Statesman got readings of low frequency waves from Valentine’s test in Kentucky. All of this can remain the same. Ginger Ale and Tequila save him by using the alpha gel, they help him recover. But when he does, he can’t remember anything from his past.  He knows his name, he has the same personality and all the same skills, which they discover when he wakes up.

When he wakes up for the first time, Ginger ale and Tequila are there. Harry is slowly coming to. We don’t know how he is though yet. As he is coming into consciousness, his agent reflexes kick in. He scans the room, finds the exit, determines any possible threats and locates the nearest weapon. In a flash, Harry sits up, grabs Tequila’s gun and points it at him. Harry asks them who they are and what is he doing there.

They look at each other and say that they have a lot to talk about.

I’m just gonna go with this and see how it plays out....

Statesman knew he was intelligence from his eye glasses, but they didn’t know whose. And Harry couldn’t tell them anything. They knew he was possibly British as he spoke the Queen’s English. But he could still be from a number of other places as well.

Obviously, international intelligence agencies are not going to be listed on the internet, but while Harry was recovering, they put out feelers for possible missing persons that matched his description, particularly in Europe and Great Britain, and then broadened their search to the commonwealth countries.

They scanned news on anything surrounding the Kentucky event, who was involved, but they only found information on Valentine and his cohorts. They even kept their ears open on the secret spy wire, to see if an agency was looking for an operative, or had an agent who had gone rogue, or had one go dark. They didn’t have any luck. It’s not like they could put out an “if missing an agent, please call” flyer.

But as Harry got better, they found out the extent of his abilities. They were far greater than Statesman expected.

—-here can be a montage of him going through his skills, slowly getting better and stronger until he is at full capacity.- plus it would be really hot and sexy to see Harry Hart’s repertoire of skills. (I heard that Colin Firth is pretty good at archery, too.)

For some reason he can’t explain, he insisted on only wearing suits, styled exactly the same as the one he was found in, shirt, tie, cuff links and his pinkie ring. The only thing he would carry is the Statesman issue pistol and the occasional custom weapon or flask. Or maybe a fedora.

He was grateful to Statesman for saving his life. We find out that Harry started working for Statesman, actually becoming close to them like he was with Roxy, Merlin, and Eggsy and becoming an integral part of their organisation.

His English mannerisms often pop up, much to the amusement of Statesman. They respect him and find him endearing at the same time. They still kept an eye out for someone matching his description gone missing, but without as much urgency since they liked having him around.

The others are overjoyed that he is alive, at the same time devastated that he doesn’t remember them. It’s like he’s almost there, but just out of reach.

(OMG, I NEED TO SEE THIS VERSION OF TGC.)

How does he get his memory back?

There are a number of ways. We could still do something similar to the puppy scenario, let’s say that Harry, for some reason he also can’t explain, wanted a cairn terrier. So he has one  that follows him around Statesman HQ.

This scenario could play out similarly as the movie. As a last resort, Eggsy threatens to shoot his dog, triggering the memory of Harry when he was a trainee having to shoot Mr. Pickle.

OR let’s say at a certain pivotal moment, something happens where Eggsy is tied to train tracks just like in TSS, but this time, there is no false floor. Eggsy is in a life or death situation and as seconds tick by, it’s looking more like death. Eggsy is yelling at Harry to please cut the ropes, when Harry’s memory is triggered. The combination of the bright lights of the train, the roar as it barrels down the tracks, Eggsy screaming, fearing for his life...Harry starts to remember the same circumstance during Eggsy’s training when he was almost hit by a train.

While Eggsy is struggling, Harry’s memory is flashing back to all the significant moments in his life, like a seizure he can’t control. His father. Butterflies. Harry joining the army. Eggsy’s father sacrificing his life to save Harry’s. Meeting Eggsy, training him, being a father figure to him. Everything to the point when he is shot by Valentine.  Harry is trying to process all of this when he hears Eggsy yelling to cut the ropes again and Harry comes to, just in time to save him.

As Eggsy recovers he notices something different about Harry. He stops and just waits, looking at him.

Out of the blue, Harry says “bloody well done” which is what he said to Eggsy when he passed the training. Harry pauses and then says with meaning “Eggsy” (not eggy as he’s been calling him)

“Hello Harry.” Eggsy says in return and goes up to hug him, which Harry returns. And he says Eggsy’s name again as memories return to him. Agent Galahad is back.

Eggsy finally had his chance to say I’m sorry to Harry and how much he meant to him and how devastated he was when he thought Harry had died. And how happy he was to find out he survived, and how devastated he was when Harry didn’t remember him. It doesn’t have to be all mushy and serious, it can just be simple and touching. Like Harry saying something like “It takes a lot more than a bullet to the head to kill Harry Hart.”

I had an issue with the dynamic between Harry and Eggsy on their first mission with Whiskey. Obviously having Harry back is the best thing in Eggsy’s life right now. What a gift to basically have him back from the dead. I personally would be extra considerate and caring of any lapses that he may be experiencing due to the gunshot. And knowing that he was still recovering (as depicted in the bar fight scene) I’d make a concerted effort to look out for his well being.

So when they are all trapped at the cabin in Italy and Harry out of the blue shoots Whiskey, my first reaction wouldn’t be “Harry you’re a fucking idiot! You’re out of control!” It was be “OMG, what’s wrong Harry? Why would you do that?” And make an effort to understand what Harry is going through. I know they’re in a life or death situation and they don’t have time to have a heart to heart. But if my best friend and mentor came back from the dead, like, days ago, I wouldn’t be calling him a fucking idiot. I first reaction would be worry and concern.

Back to my alternate scenario. This sets up a new conflict. The call of Kingsman is strong and wants to lure Harry back to Great Britain, with Eggsy and Merlin and Roxy, but he will be forever indebted to Statesman for saving his life, helping him find himself and giving him purpose and meaning within the Statesman family. He knows he will have to choose eventually, but at the moment, the pressing issue is the Golden Circle and to defeat them, the two agencies will have to work as one and who better to do lead them than Harry Hart. (I love Harry Hart so much)

What else is a possibility? Roxy is slowly won over by Agent Tequila’s charm, but she gets kidnapped by Kay and the Golden Circle. Now Agent Tequila and the others have to race to rescue Roxy before The Golden Circle blows up, because why? BECAUSE KINGSMAN HAD ALREADY SET UP EXPLOSIONS TO DESTROY THEM! So if Roxy dies in the blast, it’s basically because of Kingsman.

What else could Roxy’s story look like? Hmmm. Kay is the same age as Roxy. So despite each of their misgivings, they begin to relate to each other. Roxy is sorry about Kay’s loss and recognises that she isn’t an inherently bad person like the rest of Golden Circle. She’s just a sister, a daughter, a person like Roxy. She is just in pain and doesn’t know how to handle her grief. Kay realises that Roxy was just looking out for her friends and trying to do what’s right despite insurmountable odds. Without really realising it, they begin to bond. They really don’t want to hurt each other, but are afraid they are too far down the path of destruction and revenge to turn back.

Let’s throw in Whiskey, too. Because I don’t like how they utilised his character in TGC at all. First off, his reasoning behind wanting all the junkies to die was weak. Almost 22-23 years since the death of his wife and he was still willing to kill all the good people as well as the bad? He didn’t differentiate someone like Tequila, his fellow agent, from the meth heads that killed his wife?

I don’t think that an agent who has dedicated his life to save others would be that selfish as to want the deaths of all those people. So I’m going to throw that whole plot device in the can. Plus, the foreshadowing that Whiskey was a bad guy and that Harry was on to him and shot him was weak, of no fault of theirs, the story was bad.

Let’s say In this version, he is not a bad guy. Let’s say he’s a Statesman through and through. And he is very very protective of Statesman and is determined to protect it and the other agents at all costs, in a way he wasn’t able to protect his wife and unborn child.

As a result he is less welcoming to strangers and outsiders than the others. He has a long history of tradition within the Statesman family and wants to preserve that legacy. He is the one that was less than excited to have Harry join the agency. Whiskey was the one that continued to be suspicious, and at times could antagonise Harry, implying that no matter how good an agent he was, that he would never truly be a Statesman. That he would be an outsider. Which he now feels is justified because they discover Harry is actually a Kingsman. Whiskey avoids spending time with them, outside of the mission and continues to remain standoffish.

But slowly, as they all work together, the Kingsman agents especially being open and accepting and kind to their counter parts, Whiskey begins to slowly, begrudgingly come around. He begins to thaw and we realise what a cool guy whiskey really is, he is just ultra dedicated and loyal to Statesman and will do everything he can to protect and honor his agency. He gets to know everyone, realises that all of them have experienced their own personal loss and that their losses are what drives them to help others. And this common understanding of loss brings them together.

What if, instead of getting killed because he tried to double cross both Statesman and Kingsman, he ultimately shows his true self, when they are all trapped in the enemy HQ, by offering to stay behind, fight off bad guys, to give the others a chance to escape, including the Kingsman, at the risk of his own life.

Perhaps he asks Harry, Merlin and Eggsy to go and save Roxy and lead everyone out of danger. And to take care of Statesman, and Ginger and Tequila as Whiskey would and has his entire life, because they are ALL family now and families take care of each other.

(ALL THE FEELS. RIGHT HERE.)

What if Whiskey demands that they have to go and leave him behind to his own fate. That even if he gets overpowered, Whiskey won’t go down without a fight. They all do their agent handshake of brotherhood and leave him to fight the enemy. So Whiskey, instead of being put in the mincer, gets one last epic battle, fights harder than he ever has before because he wants to give the others a chance to survive. This is why Whiskey became a Statesman, to serve his fellow man, to protect his family. His whole life has led to this point.

The scene could be intercut with Whiskey battling the enemy, with the others making their way out of the enemy headquarters. Whiskey, the entire time fighting to keep the bad guys from following them. Let’s say that during Harry’s and Whiskeys handshake, Harry passes Whiskey his lighter grenade, as a message, agent to agent, never let the enemy capture you. If it gets to that point, use the grenade and take the bastards out with you.

The battle gets more and more hectic, Whiskey gets cornered. He’s out of options, save one. He triggers the grenade, but not before he says “this is for statesman”.  Or something else along those lines that’s super cool and badass. We don’t see the blast, but it cuts to the others who hear the bomb go off and they know that Whiskey did as much as he could and even though they are running for their lives, they take a moment to acknowledge his sacrifice.

(OMG- I’m going to make myself cry.)

How much of a better end would that be for Whiskey? Such a better part for him to play rather than the secret bad guy plot twist at the end of TGC. In this new version, we get to see his compete character arch. We feel compassion for him, we root for him, and we mourn his loss. Ugh. I just hate how so many of the characters deaths got the short shift.

Or if it’s not whiskey, If Merlin still has to die, (which I don’t think he does) he could be the one that stays behind. But death would be more than accidentally stepping on a landmine. There would be more at stake, more on the line. More urgency. If both Whiskey and Merlin had to die, what if they had to detonate a bomb, but the bomb had a fail safe where to detonate the it, two people have to trigger it at the same time, and the likelihood of survival is slim. But they offer to stay behind, one man from each agency. There can still be an epic battle, but this time Merlin gets a chance to fight, too. And he fights alongside Whiskey for as long and as hard as they can until they have to detonate the bomb. Merlin gets his moment.

In TGC, Merlin didn’t even get half the chance to be a bad ass in his own Kingsman suit and glasses. It wasn’t fair to him. He should have had more of a chance to be a part of things in the end. Merlin deserved a much more meaningful send off. There were so many other ways to handle his death.... if he had to die at all.

Let’s say in my version he survived the blast, we don’t know, there’s a chance he did. And that gives us hope. We really want him to be in the third movie with Eggsy and Harry, the three of them have such a good dynamic.

I felt like Merlins death in TGC should have been much more impactful. It seemed like an afterthought. After he died, his name was only mentioned 4 times. Eggsy said his name when he killed Charlie, Harry said his name and Rest In Peace, when explaining the heroin injection to Poppy. Whiskey said his name about putting pieces of him and Harry into a bucket, and lastly, that releasing the antidote was in Merlin’s honor. But emotionally, it didn’t feel like they felt his loss at all. They nodded their goodbyes, and then went dead in the eyes before they went after poppy’s men. That was the extent of it.

Merlin wasn’t recognized at all after the whole poppy ordeal. Not at the meeting at Statesman or at Eggsy’s wedding. I know they were planning on having Merlin survive the blast and be there when Eggsy got married, just with prosthetic legs. And at the last minute decided not to. I know Merlin and Ginger ale were supposed to kind of be into each other. We got a little of that with them working together. But that relationship was cut from the final version. As a result, it felt abrupt. We didn’t get her reaction when Merlin died. Or get their reaction when they found out that Whiskey had double crossed them.

Back to Kay and Roxy...

Let’s say Kay is ordered to take out Roxy. Kay actually begins to feel bad, begins to doubt herself, but is determined to stick to her plan. She is supposed to shoot Roxy and then join the rest of the Golden Circle bad guys to get the others.

As she points her gun at Roxy, Kay says something along the lines of “I’m sorry that this actually IS personal and it’s something that she has to do. For her family. For herself.”

To Kay’s surprise, Roxy is calm, collected and replies in understanding. Roxy can imagine how she is feeling, because if she lost her family like Kay did. If Eggsy, Merlin and Harry died, her own family now, she would feel the same way as Kay does. And she doesn’t blame her for wanting revenge. Roxy says simply, do what you need to do, so you can get over their deaths. I accept my fate. And closes her eyes.

Kay, switches off the safety and takes two shots at Roxy. Roxy flinches, but realizes that she is not dead. Kay has actually shot off her handcuffs that were binding Roxy to her chair. Roxy takes a moment to be impressed with Kay’s  sharp shooting skills.

Kay, feeling defeated and empty, tells Roxy to go. To hurry and find her friends and escape before the GC men return. Kay gives her the gun. Roxy is set to leave, but stops when she realizes that they will kill Kay when they realize that Kay didn’t kill Roxy, but instead set her free. She says so aloud to Kay.

Kay replies, “I know. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’d rather be with my family, anyway. Like you said, I accept my fate. Go. Now. Before it’s too late.”

Roxy hesitates before deciding. She asks Kay to come with her. That she truly doesn’t belong here. That she’s just lost and afraid. But that she doesn’t have to be alone.

Kay is taken aback at the offer and tells Roxy that Kay blew up Roxys headquarters and tried to kill them all and kidnapped her and was about to shoot her in the head. “I’m not the kind of person that you want to have around and I don’t think your friends will be to excited to see me again.”

Roxy says that it wasn’t really Kay, that it was TGC, that took advantage of her grief and skill. Kay is not a bad person. She’s just trying to deal with a bad set of circumstances, with bad company. Come with me. Instead.

Kay asks her how does she know that Kay is trustworthy. Roxy tosses her back the gun and says, I just do. Kay looks at the gun for a moment. Realizes she had nothing to lose, gives the gun back to Roxy and pulls a second one from behind her back. And tells Roxy “let’s go.”

Perhaps Kay can become a new agent to help fill all those they lost in the explosion. And Agent Tequila came to Kingsman to help as well AND because he likes Roxy.

So at the end of TGC, we have Harry, Eggsy, Roxy, and Merlin (he survived the blast. Excuse I wanted him to. RIP Agent Whiskey) and new agents Kay and Tequila. We have all of these characters for the 3rd instalment. How amazing would that be?

OK, NOW IM DONE. IF I WAS RICH I WOULD FUND THIS MOVIE JUST SO I COULD SEE IT. I’D PAY THEM (COLIN FIRTH) WHATEVER THEY WANTED SO THEY WOULD COME BACK (AND LOOK REALLY HOT AND SEXY IN A SUIT.)

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO SEE FOR THE NEXT/FINAL INSTALMENT OF KINGSMAN?



Sent from my iPhone

[fuckyeahharryhart]

PART 3 HARRY HART FAN FICTION Because they better give him a good story for the last Kingsman. In case they don’t, I wrote something myself.

PART  3

FAN FIC

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED

MULTI PART SERIES:(My version of Kingsman 3)

Harry Hart x Original Character

Warnings: Reference to violence

Word Count: 5,000

OVERVIEW: After the events of Kingsman, The Golden Circle, Harry, Eggsy and the rest of the survivors rebuild their agency to it’s former level of integrity. A new player arrives unexpectedly, carrying memories of the past that will change the future of Kingsman.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Gwendolyn, having played her last card, shares a drink with Harry and Eggsy while she tells them who she is, where she came from and why she was spying on them.

------

The Black Prince Public House stood on a quiet corner in South London’s, Kensington. The pub dated back to the early 20th century and its name referred to the road where it stood. The wall were painted a dark forest green with black trim. Its name was displayed in gold. It was the place to go, its sign stated, for FINE ALES AND STOUT, but the three patrons inside, seated at one of the booths at the rear, decided that something a little stronger was appropriate after the evening’s turn of events.

Gwendolyn decided this was a drink she was waiting for her whole life and, therefore, if she was going to “celebrate”, was not the right word, perhaps “commemorate the occasion” was a better term, she was going to do it properly. She had acquired a taste for fine scotch and chose accordingly. She was quite sure the two men were slightly taken aback when she ordered three The Macallan 25’s, neat, for the table. She was fairly certain that this warm, friendly, unassuming neighbourhood pub would not carry The Maccallan M Edition, or the Silver Jubilee, or the Dalmore 64.  so she didn’t inquire, but even the cost of the three glasses would be relatively extravagant. The price wasn’t a concern of hers and she was sure it wasn’t a concern of the Kingsman, whose coffers went deep. She wasn’t beyond offending any gentlemanly sensibilities this evening. They were beyond chivalry. And she wasn’t about to tolerate either of them possibly ordering for her.

The two men regarded her if she were a new species of female. She probably was. There were female Kingsman agents, but they too, followed Kingsman protocol, regardless of gender. The behaviour, actions, mannerisms of all Kingsman were consistent, familiar, reliable, while she was under no such constraints.  If her behaviour this evening was unseemly, “unladylike”, she really couldn’t give a rat’s arse. She was here for a reason and her methods got her job done. Perhaps with less grace and finesse than she was hoping for, but she got her results.

The three short tumblrs of scotch were placed in front of them. It had been a very long time since The Black Black Prince had poured not one, but three from that particular bottle. As it was custom that the host, or hostess for this matter, make a toast and she didn’t yet make a move toward her glass, the two men waited to follow her lead. So now they decide to be polite, she thought.

“Well, then.” she began. She was slightly irritated at their seemingly perfect presentation, at least on Harry’s part. Eggsy was not beyond taking a more relaxed shape and leaned back into the booth. His tie was loosened and his suit coat unbuttoned. His hair slightly mused even though he did not participate in any of the more physical aspects of their evening, as if that was its natural state. He would have shrugged out of his jacket if it weren’t for his shoulder holster.

Harry Hart, returned back to his gentlemanly demeanour, sat straight, but comfortably, his suit and tie still perfectly in place. Even his hair had somehow returned to its initial state, smooth waves brushed back into shape. It made her feel somewhat uncomfortable to see him so poised after the physical contact they had made. She had flipped him over her head, had a knife to his throat, kicked him fairly hard in the shin, and he looked none the worse for wear. Only his expression, equal parts indignant, concerned, and vaguely offended, revealed that anything of interest had occurred.

In contrast, even turning toward him was likely to throw her off balance. A feeling she did not enjoy one bit. Just her quick glance in his direction and she could feel him behind her again, pressing against her, the long line of his legs, the broadness of his chest across her back, the sheer size of him, the smell of his wool suit and the cologne, soap or whatever made him smell so good and she felt a rush of blood rise up to her cheeks. She clenched her jaw and flushed. She was hoping that they would take it for her high emotional state after their confrontation, not the fact that she found herself neatly attracted to a man she only just met and almost twice her age.

His refined manner only made her that much more aware of her own disheveled state. Her hair, a black cloud that had been blown all over, her pedestrian attire, though not unattractive, in no way matched the elegance of their Kingsman suits. No cosmetics, no adornment, not that those elements of her outward appearance were particularly important to her, in the face of their stately masculinity, she felt decidedly unfeminine. And regardless of her feelings, she knew that her looks were as much of a tool for a spy as her words or actions. She convinced herself she wasn’t concerned just because she wanted Harry to find her attractive.

Her personal feelings seeped into her professional persona. She reeled back her thoughts and replaced them with a cool, calm, collected mindset with a specific objective. If she kept her personal feelings at bay now, she could let it all out after her mission was accomplished. She drilled into her brain, be smart now, feel later.

Until she felt differently, she approached this as she would any other meeting of an asset or target. What she needed from the relationship and how could she get them to do what she wanted was just as much about finding out what they needed, and how to make it seem she was giving them what they wanted.  Almost every relationship was based on a desire to be heard and understood. Wants and needs were always self-revealed, unwittingly or intently. She just had to listen.

Unfortunately, for this first meeting, she would be the one doing most of the talking. She knew being genuine, sincere, and honest, would be in her best interest.  The more and better we are heard and understood, she thought, the more we are willing to and want to engage and respond. The sensation of being listened to was a powerful motivator and feeling enhancer to all people, it was human nature.  It was why we befriended those that listened to us, worked for those that heard us, and fell in love with those that understood us.

——

“Well” she repeated, refocusing. She shifted her posture, drew her shoulders back, lifted her head a little higher, and held the space around her. Composing herself just as she would with any new asset would put her back on target. Remember your training.

“I’m sure you have many questions.” She opened up the table.

Harry, as direct as she, got right to the point.

“How are we to trust that you are really Merlin’s daughter? He never spoke of family.”

He folded his hands together, looking stern with a slight narrowing of his eyes, his brow with just a hint of a furrow.

Harry’s eyes roved over her, her posture, hands, the angles of her face. He listened to the inflections of her voice, searching for any tells that might indicate she was being less than honest. He looked for any hint of the tall Scotsman in this young woman. The loss of Merlin was still a wound that was raw. For both he and Eggsy. He wouldn’t tolerate anyone using his death as an excuse, no matter the reason, but especially if it was a false one.

“He wouldn’t have.” She replied bluntly. “

“ How much did you know of Hamish?” She asked.

She emphasised the pronunciation of his given name. Hay-mish.

“That is, before he came to Kingsman.”

The two men glanced at each other, but did not speak. Admittedly, they did not know of Merlin’s past. He never offered, and as gentleman, they never asked. They both knew that spies usually became spies because of something dark and fucked up from their past, and Harry had no doubt this was the same for Merlin. Hence, he never questioned his unwillingness to disclose his life prior to Kingsman. Harry was the same, just as unwilling to divulge his own personal information.

Eggsy, “That doesn’t mean anything. Anyone can say that.”

Harry leaned forward slightly, emphasising the importance of his words. They were low and sharp.

“If you really are who you say you are, then you know that his loss is one that we still feel every day.”

He shot a glance toward Eggsy, who more than anyone, felt the weight of his death.

“We will not condone anyone using his name for their own motives. Have you proof?”

She surveyed them for a moment. She considered her words and chose them with care. Her words were all she had and they carried a heavy weight. They had to be strong enough to deliver the message she was about to send. He eyes moved to her drink, still untouched.  Mindfulness was key. As was paying attention to their responses, observing them with the intent to understand. Through her words, she would see how they felt, what they were thinking, and most of all, what they wanted or needed.

She cleared her throat. She met one pair of eyes and then the other.  She poised herself to say something that, to her, held the utmost honour and importance. She took a deep breath in. At the end of her exhalation, she spoke. Her voice was low as well. Her words were even more powerful for her lack of emotion.

“My father’s favorite song was ‘Country Roads.’ by John Denver.”

The entire room seemed to suddenly quiet with stupefaction.

“My father was singing it, when he stepped off of a land mine to save both of your lives. And to save your mission. For my father, the mission always came first.”

For the two men, this was an impossible statement. No one, set aside Eggsy and himself had that knowledge. Not even other Kingsman.

Harry spoke, this time with frank disbelief. He wasn’t even questioning her. He was asking himself. Out loud. Without his familiar strength and surety.

“That is impossible. There is no possible way you could know that.”

With the same poise, the same simplicity, she explained.

“I was there when he died.” Observing their state of bewilderment, she clarified. “Via satellite and reconnaissance drones.” Which didn’t ease their confusion.

“If you worked with my father, you knew he was a brilliant strategist. He wasn’t merely good, he was gifted. He had the talent of an artist. Some of that talent filtered down to me. I’ll never be as good as he was, but I was good enough to hack the communication band that Statesman had in place for reconnaissance and I had access to audio and visual of the events that led to, and after his death.”

Impossible would never have the same meaning for them again. Because this young woman’s story was utterly impossible. Yet, here it was, an impossible situation.  

She turned slightly toward Eggsy and held his blue eyes with her grey. Her voice took on an undefinable emotion, “I know that he took your place on a land mine, Eggsy.”

And with that confession, he was forced to drop his gaze. Is this how Harry felt when he had to tell him that it was due to Harry’s own mistake that Eggy’s father died? Guilt was physical. It was a crushing weight on his chest that made it hard to breathe.

“I know that he died in the way that he wanted.”

She added with a note of empathy and understanding to slightly ease their guilt and their shock.  

“He was able to give his life for those close to him.”

Neither of the men could think of anything to say. Harry Hart, who was never at a loss for words, found himself unable to find a single word that would be appropriate for a time and situation like this.

Gwendolyn sighed internally. At least now she had their full attention. She was quite certain that she would not be interrupted this time around.

“Perhaps,”  she said. Her voice now carried a softer note. It was not the voice of an agent. It was the voice of a daughter.

“Perhaps, I should start at the beginning”.

“But first.” she paused and picked up her glass, holding her arm out toward the men, the glass in her hand.

Harry and Eggsy, first exchanging a look in the other’s direction, followed suit. Each man took a glass and waited, with the warm golden liquid breaking up the lines of dim light that hovered over their table.

She suddenly felt overcome once more, as she had been when she first stepped off the train and onto the concourse on her arrival. She channeled that emotion into her toast, which was brief and heartbreaking in its simplicity.

Holding up her glass, “To my father, Hamish Mycroft.” She paused. “And to Merlin.”

Each of them held the gaze of the other two as their glasses touched with a light, crisp ring. Each drank back its contents.

——

As three glasses hit the hardwood of the table. Gwendolyn began to speak. Her story was a long and complicated one. And unfortunately, the two men could tell, it would be a sad one. An unknown daughter of a colleague that you’ve known for most of your adult life doesn’t suddenly appear after his death with good news.

“My father, whose given name was Hamish Mycroft, was married. He had three children. Two boys and a girl. I was the youngest.”

The slightly blank, yet confused faces made it seem like she had already given them more information than they could process. She paused, gestured to the barkeep for another round. The scotch would do good to kick in soon, because her story was not going to get any easier.

“Before he had a family, he worked with far east intelligence, recruited after his time in the army, where he had been stationed in Tibet, Bhutan, and other East Asian territories.”

She nodded her thanks to the barman, who delivered their second round of drinks. The scotch should have been savoured, but she felt at the time, a tip back for her father was right, even though he would have been horrified to see her shoot back a scotch of such high quality. This one however, she would sip.

“While he was working as a field operative at the station in Bhutan, he met a very beautiful Bhutanese woman, Evelyn, my mother, who was also working intelligence, but as a handler. Based on their skill assessment, they were assigned to work as a team. They would run missions together. My father as the operative. My mother, his handler. Hence, I myself am half Scottish, half Bhutanese. If you’ve had difficulty pinpointing my ethnicity. It’s not a common pairing.”

“Even though the agency opposed ‘close and continuing’, inter-agency relationships and relationships in general, Hamish believed that he could live a normal life. That he could have a wife and family despite working in intelligence. They were an example of having a successful home life in addition to a successful career and they were very happy for a long time.”

Merlin as a husband and father were the farthest roles that Harry and Eggsy could imagine him in. The brusk, often testy, disagreeable scotsman, with all the warmth of a potato, with a wife and children.

Gwendolyn continued with her story. Pausing after a long stretch for a sip of her scotch, but for the most part, continuously and without any interruption from the two men. They were both a bit stupefied that one of their closest, most respected and trusted colleagues had an entire past of which they had no knowledge.

—

Hamish was smitten at first glance. On Evelyn’s side, it was more appropriate to say that she tolerated his presence . And even that was putting things kindly. Eventually, he was able to win her over with his rough Scottish brogue, his biting sense of humour and dry wit. Underneath the sarcasm and abrupt, even gruff personality, she sensed a very kind soul who possessed a good heart. It was simply being protected by a shield designed to keep people at arms length.

Though as handler and operative, there could be no shields. There could not be even a hairs breadth distance between a team, let alone an arms length. The operative’s life was literally in the hands of the handler. If they weren’t working, existing, breathing as one, it would be only a matter of time until the operative would find himself in a position where he needed his handler, but the handler wouldn’t be able to provide. Or the agent, not fully trusting his handler, withheld crucial information, therefore setting up his handler to fail in the case where he needs life threatening assistance. These relationships often ended in the death of the operative, as he had to fully entrust not only the capability of his handler, but also fully trust the person behind his earpiece. The relationship had to be based, on not only on professional compatibility, but on a personal and emotional connection as well.  Whatever jesting nature, or standoffish front either of them first presented to each other dissolved when they were on mission. The trust was profound. It was scary to know the circumstances they had been through together and how much each of them put their lives in the hands of the other.

Their relationship was highly personal, intense, and emotional. The nature of their relationship was a powerful force behind their choice to be together and to devote their loyalties to a single agency, with a singular mission, to preserve life and to protect the innocent. However, this often resulted in taking out some very bad, very large, very powerful players off the world’s stage. When they both proved themselves more than capable individually, and even beyond exceptional as a team, they were brought on to the Maximum Threat, Maximum Risk Special Operations Division, or MTMR.

The MTMR, only dealt with the worst of the worst, and then the unthinkable of the worst. These were the terrorists, the warlords, those with enough power and influence to bypass almost any law, any treaty and any world decree. Those who would violate human rights and the rules of engagement. They were the worst of the worst, but also the lowest of the low. In their eyes, life was a commodity to be traded, abused or without value and discarded at will. This is what happened when psychopaths achieved power. Without empathy, without a conscious, without a sense of right or wrong or any moral accountability, without any value of life. These were the most dangerous and most difficult enemies to engage. Not only could they commit the most horrible atrocities, they were usually narcissists as well, dynamic, charismatic, even charming. Therefore, their inner circle was comprised of sycophants who provided his narcissistic supply. They eliminated those that were either immune to their charms, or were beginning to understand the true nature of their personality, which was that of a very highly functioning psychopath.

In this division, Hamish did not operate in the field, but joined Evelyn in strategic planning and outcomes. They worked as a team. Hamish, with his knowledge of the field as a Special Operations Officer, possessed the skills to operate weapons and explosives, to take on missions to gather intelligence and destroy targets in hostile environments. He knew the dangers, the variables, the best strategies.

Evelyn provided critical thinking.  She had the ability to predict outcomes, to make the most difficult life and death decisions without hesitation and be a leader to her team . The pair became an invaluable asset to the division. It was proof to them, when the agency acknowledged their value, not as separate agents, not as a handler and operative, but as a team, that they could be in the world of espionage as husband and wife with a family. The agency saw that their success was based on not only their expertise, but BECAUSE of, not despite their relationship. The closeness, the sheer absolute trust that they had in each other, and their love kept them committed to each other and their work. They experienced both a fulfilling family life and successful professional life for longer than anyone could hope for in their line of work.

During their successful tenure in the MTMR Special Ops, one operation took precedence over all others. They were both actively involved, not only in gathering intel, but in the entire intelligence cycle.  First, with planning, identifying possible threats and what they needed to know about the threat with world leaders and decision makers. Collection, which was the division they both began in, the physical collection of target information through operations. Analysis, examining the new information, looking for connections, key points, new developments, and combining it with what they already knew, creating useful and actionable intelligence. Lastly, was Dissemination, where the new intelligence was discussed with politicians and decision makers who then decided whether to take action or if more information was needed.

It was during one of these cycles, where Evelyn and Hamish were assigned as head officers of a mission. It was a mission that resulted from intel that their team had collected, analysed and produced. The target was an international underground world leader, not of any established or recognised government. He threatened to destabilise society. Not through government or any means of authority. He wasn’t targeting positions of leadership. He wasn’t engaging in the trickle down theory. He was starting at the bottom. First, was taking out crops, tainting water supplies, poisoning livestock. He did not bother with small areas. He targeted the largest ones. Locations with the most impact and the widest effect.  Civil unrest was next. Which turned into peaceful demonstrations. Then came active protest. Followed by violent protest. Then it was rioting, looting. And when fear took hold, it was domestic terrorism. He was using the countries own people to destabilise the structure, the foundation of civilisation, which was based on people working together.

Apparently, he was not one to follow the saying, “The fish rots from the head down.” Meaning that without sound leadership, the people will eventually turn bad and die off. When in actuality, the guts, the contents of the fish begins to rot first. Perhaps the warlord followed this philosophy. Corrupt the innovators, the providers, the creators of sustenance, essentially the life givers, and civilised society will begin to rot from, not the head down, but from the inside out.

In conjunction with the US, the British Armed Forces and other key international allies, they were able to coordinate an airstrike. It was successful in so much that they destroyed their enemies home base, their world HQ and well as almost all of their high level leadership. However, they missed their main target. Also on the strike list, was the home of Azal Aamon, which was where he was supposed to be at the time of the strike. His family, wife and two children were to be collateral damage. Unfortunate, but sometimes unavoidable in times of war. But after reviewing the DNA evidence to confirm the targets as deceased, his family was identified, but Aamon’s DNA was not found. No one had knowledge of how he was able to avoid or survive the attack. The last piece of intel that they had verified, was his location at the time of fire.

———

Inside the Black Prince, Gwendolyn paused. She reached for her drink, lifted the glass to her lips, and took a small sip. Harry saw her jaw working as she let the scotch rest on her palate, allowing it to reach all the areas of her tongue so she could appreciate its aromatic notes before she swallowed.  It was a gesture he was familiar with, one that he made every time he enjoyed his own drink, but it was especially interesting to see this decidedly, he was not a sexist in any way, shape or form, but this particularly male gesture take shape on her extremely feminine and delicate face. He felt decidedly uncomfortable. So he simply took her lead and followed suit with a swallow of his own. As did Eggsy, who was leaning forward at this point, his elbows on the table and his tie even more undone, as were the few top buttons of his shirt. Harry as always, remained properly attired.

She looked at both of them, her eyes inquiring, silently asking if they had any questions, if they needed any clarifications, to see if they understood. To confirm that they believed her.

Harry was particularly intrigued. Out of all the coincidences that seemed to be happening, he knew precisely, the mission she was referring to. The British Armed Forces did take part in the Aamon mission and he knew this because he was part of the BAF at that time.  He had been directly involved in the operations side of the mission. How was it possible that he had this experience in common with Merlin and it never came up in conversation? He thought back to the rare times where they would share stories, sometimes while waiting out a mission, or after a successful one, over a drink just like this. He recalled sharing a few stories from his time in the military, but thinking back, could not recall a single instance that Merlin even mentioned his time in the army, or anything really prior his employment with Kingsman. Harry only knew that he had been military. Out of all the possible connections that they had, one of the biggest ones that they shared remained unknown until after his death.

Gwendoyn was regarding him thoughtfully, knowing that he had made some kind of connection or realisation, but she didn’t mention it and he was grateful. He tipped his head, asking her to please continue.

“As you can imagine, this was seen as a failed mission on paper, since they did not terminate their main target. But in many ways it was a huge success. An operation of this scale, with multiple targets on the board, with international military and intelligence coordination, with minimal collateral damage, is typically unheard of, and my parents were honoured to have lead their intelligence division. I’m not sure if Kingsman participates in this particular tradition, but after high risk missions of this nature, officers and operatives, if it is feasible, are offered time off, mostly to decompress. The agency is aware that if their officers and operatives work at that level of intensity for prolonged periods of time, they will burn out. It’s not possible to sustain that level of stress at length without a chance to wind down.”

It was quiet. Gwendolyn has stopped speaking. Harry could see that she was taking time to collect her thoughts again. He wasn’t sure why she needed to. She was recalling a very complicated and personal story with an eloquence, a clarity and a dignity that he respected very much. She wasn’t just reminiscing about a story, reciting history, or a past event. Their comprehension was important to her. This wasn’t about her “getting something off of her chest”. He had the feeling that she could be very happy never having to say any of these words ever again. She wasn’t looking for support or understanding. She was making sure that THEY understood her story. It wasn’t sympathy for her that she wanted. She was looking for absorbtion  Particularly from Harry. Most likely because he had the longest relationship with Merlin. But she was fixing him with a very intense gaze that he was not quite sure what to do with.

Harry already felt a particular sadness. He knew where this story was heading. He might not know the specifics yet, but you didn’t need to be a spy to know there was no happy ending for her. Out of a family that was once a mother, a father, and two brothers, this woman was the only one sitting in front of them. His respect for her was growing with each moment. He was feeling quite sorry now, for treating her so roughly.

She picked up her story, dusted it a little, found where she left off and resumed. Her voice became detached once again, but her words never faltered.

“We were all on break. Because they both got time off, that meant the whole family was on break. It was very rare for us. For the family, for me, those times were very special.  I don’t remember many other times we had that kind of chance. Of course, outings were still agency outings. I was really too small at the time, six, but that was our life. I didn’t know any different then. But my parents, because of their positions, were at high risk for retaliation and we always had protection with us. My brothers and I had protocol, even back then. No speaking to strangers, at all. Never speaking about my parents, never offering any personal information. Never giving out my name. If we were ever to get lost, we were never to ask for them or speak their names. We had one number to call and it was not even theirs. It was the agency’s number, created just for us to have in case of an emergency. There was actually a person whose job it was to be prepared if they ever received a call from us. Very few people, and only those with high security clearance, had information about our family. We were referred to as assets. Not by our names.”

As she continued, The more emotion left her voice, the more matter of fact she became, as she became more composed, more stoic, Harry felt his sadness slowly turn into inevitable dread. He was also aware of the second mission that followed up the first air strike. He was also assigned operations support for the BAF’s involvement. He had heard stories about what had happened at intelligence HQ, but never anything confirmed. If she had been involved in that, it was worse than he thought.

------

Look for future posts :) If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Feedback, likes and reblogs are always helpful and much appreciated. If you have a chance, would love to hear your thoughts!

[fuckyeahharryhart]

FAN FIC: PART 7 KINGSMAN III: REDACTED

SUMMARY: A familiar face shows up at Kingsman. They discuss the possibility of a new adversary threatening the future of Kingsman.

WORD COUNT: 4800

Might be less developed as other chapters. I suck at plot.

------

A tall, decidedly handsome man pushed open the double doors of Kingsman Tailor Shop and strode in as if he owned the place. It was a possibility not to discount as he was dressed almost identically as the Kingsman agents. However, there was something quite different about this gentleman. His distinction had more to do with his bearing, the way he walked, the way he swaggered and less to do with his black leather cowboy boots and his silver flask belt buckle. Though these deviations from Kingsman’s regulation attire were noted. He seemed to take up more space, even though the shop was empty at the time. He was taller than Eggsy, but not quite reaching the heights of Harry, even with his heeled boots. And while Harry carried himself with a subtle, lean and long masculine grace, this man was robust and brawny. His build was closer to Eggsy’s, broad in the shoulders, strong and sturdy. Just taller. Bigger.

The man paused at the reception desk. Drove the pointed, business end of a Kingsman umbrella, the ferrule, onto the hardwood floor. He clutched the grip with both hands and announced his presence, while planting himself with his cowboy boots a little wider than hips width distance apart.

“Tell ‘em in the back that Agent Tequila’s here.” He hollered.

Aside from the smaller details, his voice was the identifying factor. The man announced his presence with a deep, masculine southern drawl. The accent had the formality of Received Pronunciation, but with a twist from across the pond.

He was Agent Tequila, from the United States. He arrived at Kingsman London to assist after the events of The Golden Circle depleted the Kingsman’s ranks. And because Champagne “Champ”, the head of Statesman, their U.S. counterpart, believed some time spent with the good ‘ole boys of Kingsman would add a little class and sophistication to the rough around the edges, but otherwise adept agent.

Tequila, on the other hand, regarded this stint as an opportunity, if not to corrupt the ranks of Kingsman, at the very least, shake ‘em up a bit. Loosen ‘em up. It didn’t have to be suits and ties ALL the time.

His own reflection caught his eye in one of the dressing mirrors and he gave himself a wink. He did have to admit that he carried the suit well and he did look mighty damn fine.  

Not a bad toss up for being a little less comfortable in his Levis and his snap button shirts. He did find himself missing his cowboy hat. The rounded felt hat from the London hat-makers Thomas and William Bowler, felt stuffy and small compared to his Stetson. Granted, it did have an older history in 1849, compared to 1865, but not by much. He was assured that the bowler, in conjunction with the rolled brolly, what they called an umbrella, was the look of a proper city gentleman. He still figured southerners could hold their own when you got right down to it. In the meantime, as long as they didn’t put a bur in his saddle, everything should be fine as paint. No sale on the cowboy boots and the belt buckle. Getting citified only went so far. But otherwise, he reckoned, when in Rome.

The door to one of the dressing rooms swung open and Eggsy stepped out. An odd place to be waiting, seeing that he wasn’t with a client. How the hells long as he been in there, he thought.

Tequila lifted a chin in his direction.

“Well, you got here faster than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking competition -”

He cut himself off when a second person followed him out of the room. Not a client, curiously, but a young woman he had never seen before. Her attire was similar to Kingsman agents, but not exactly. She was dressed in a slim skirt and suit set, a navy Prince of Wales check. Just as their suits were cut to fit a man’s shape, hers was cut to enhance the lines of a more feminine figure. Just as precise, just as exacting. Rather than a men’s dress shirt, she wore a feminine silk blouse with ruffled detailing. Rather than a tie, she had a silk scarf of the same pattern tied around the low bun holding her hair. Her black patent Mary Janes gave another several inches to her already tall height. She made really quite the fetching picture.

Well, there go my manners, Tequila thought.

Eggsy decided it was in all of their best interests if he took care of the introductions, just in case the brash southerner was about to come up with something that sounded slightly insulting. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with his particular curious vernacular just yet. And Eggsy didn’t trust him enough not to say something offensive.

“Agent Tequila, I would like you to meet Gwendolyn Mycroft.” he gestured to the woman who stood next to him, “She is one of Kingsman’s newest additions.”

“Gwendolyn, this is Agent Tequila, he is part of Statesman, our equivalent agency based in the United States. I believe you are familiar with it.”

Eggsy stopped himself. He didn’t quite think it was an appropriate time or in good taste to mention she knew Statesman because she hacked into their computer’s mainframe and then watched her father die.

Gwendolyn held out her hand politely, with an inscrutable expression. It was the way she greeted all unknowns until she was able to form her opinion.

“Pleasure to meet you, Agent Tequila.” she responded properly.

Eggsy wanted to cringe when he saw Tequila take her hand and promptly kiss the back of it.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Mycroft.” He drawled. Gwendolyn began to pull her hand back a fraction before he let it go. If she was amused or offended by his gesture, she didn’t let it show.

At least it wasn’t a double air cheek kiss, Eggsy thought. He continued. “Agent Tequila is also here to help us establish the foundation of the new Kingsman.”

Tequila, in Gwendolyn’s direction. “I guess you’re here to do the same.”

Her expression still hadn’t shifted. But her eyes had yet to leave Agent Tequila’s face.

Eggsy spoke for her. “Yes, she is also helping in Field work, Strategy as well as Research and Development.”

“Well don’t you sound as smart as all get out.” Tequila said as a compliment. “Why don’t you join us while Eggsy gives me a tour of this joint?”

Eggsy noticed that Gwendolyn’s expression had not changed a single bit since she first saw the agent from the south. And with Tequila pouring on more charm than usual, he was sure it was going to make for an interesting time at Kingsman. As he invited the agent to take a tour of the shop, he was suddenly very glad that he was married.

——

With the financial support of their new Kingsman distillery and additional backing from Statesman, they were able to begin the rebuild of the shop, ancillary locations and warehouses, though it would still be years until they were able to match the previous Kingsman’s massive collection of artillery, technology, and properties. Kingsman had been steeped in history. Many objects of historical significance they had lost were irreplaceable. But its complete destruction allowed them the opportunity to separate the wheat from the chafe, the good from the bad, to let go of archaic traditions that no longer held significance or value, and prioritise where their main focus should lie.

Reconstructing the Kingsman’s front was one of those top priorities. The tailor shop was running smoothly again, fashioning first rate bespoke menswear as it had prior to the explosions. Kingsman agents were supplied with new suits with fresh bulletproof lining. A new collection of accoutrements accompanied each agent. They prioritized the shop, ��as well as rebuilding their armoury and weapons cache.

As long as the agents had their Kingsman armour and the accessories that completed the look, they were mission ready. The rest would be replaced in time. Historical buildings and 100 year old scotch couldn’t protect the world from all the horrible things men did to each other. It was the knights, the brave and honourable men and women that made up the ranks of Kingsman, that would carry on the ultimate mission of their organization, to uphold peace and protect life.

The Kingsman suit didn’t make the man, but the agents definitely embodied the suits as well as every gentleman spy should.  And being a gentleman spy was a matter of being four things. They were polite. They were courteous. They were well mannered. And they had a plan to kill everyone in the room at any given time.

———-

Gwendolyn’s appearance came, by chance, at the most fortuitous moment. While a drive-by shooting was not the most elegant tactic to remove players from the board, if done properly, it was effective. Fast and fatal with little fuss.  With less chance for blowback, but common enough where the news of a drive by shooting was not likely to stir the interest of the authorities other than to increase patrol and warn residents to take precaution.  

Most likely this kind of shooting would be treated as an anomaly. An unfortunate, one-of incident. It also kept agencies such as theirs, from raising alert to a possible threat.

The modus operandi of low life thugs and gangs that did not have enough sophistication for tradecraft, drive-by shootings usually had three purposes, as a warning, to take out a rival, or an initiation of a new member. It was doubtful that Kingsman was the target of a local gang. But sometimes gangs freelanced for those with more power.

Gwendoyn mentioned that it was quite possible that whomever or whatever wanted them out of the picture had outsourced or contracted the job. It would pose even less risk for the controlling party. On the other hand, anytime an organization no longer took care of wet work “in-house” there was always the possibility for indiscretion, for leaks. There was no honor amongst thieves for these kinds of criminals. The only means to motivate them was either through money or power or the fear of losing both.

If this adversary wanted Kingsman off the board, they had power and influence that went deep. Eggsy mentioned if they were able to identify both Harry and himself, have access to their schedule and whereabouts for any given day, that meant they had the resources for hi-tech surveillance. Setting up counter-surveillance should take precedence.

Not necessarily, Gwendolyn had pointed out. Sure it was time consuming and repetitive, but she was able to surveil the same, determine the same schedule, gather the same intel just by physical reconnaissance. Even though she had been a near constant presence for two weeks, she had not raised any suspicions. She was there, expecting Harry and Eggsy, just as the vehicle was. There was no sense setting up hi- tech counter surveillance if the adversary wasn’t using high technology surveillance to begin with.

Sometimes, low-tech, low-fi, the least expected method was the one that was used BECAUSE of it’s near obsolescence.  Gwendolyn emphasized that they shouldn’t rely just on tech to determine who the enemy was. Curious since one of her main strengths was in tech, but her father had always emphasised not to let her talents and skills become a crutch. A good agent looked at all angles of a problem, not just the angle that gave her the best view.

The Golden Circle left a large void in the criminal world that needed to be filled. Luckily, for Kingsman, that meant a lot of in-house fighting and attempts to gain power. Deals and alliances were made and broken. Backs were stabbed. Retribution was had. As challenging as it was to broker a deal in legitimate business matters, it was exponentially more risky when you were dealing with individuals who robbed, lied and killed for a living.

——

On an average London afternoon, slightly cloudy and overcast, with an occasional peek of sunshine through the clouds, Kingsman debated matters of life and death.

They were all seated at the long table in the new dining room, discussing the new threat. The table consisted of Gwendolyn, Agent Tequila, Galahad Sr. and Galahad Jr. They really had to do something about those codenames. But apparently, the name had significance to both Harry and Eggsy and neither of them was ready to give up the handle.

Ever since the betrayal of long-standing agents in both organizations, Chester King, the Arthur that betrayed Harry and Kingsman, and the discovery of Agent Whiskey as a traitor in Statesman, and of course, the destruction of Kingsman and all of its agents, they were taking more care of who was on a need to know basis.  In this case, the circle was a small one. Harry and Eggsy, since they were the targets, Gwendolyn for obvious reasons, and Agent Tequila, whose fresh eyes might be able to discern nuances they had overlooked. It was just as well the group was small. The other remaining active Kingsman were all in the field on other assignments. Everyone was having to do more with less.

Gwendolyn was seated at the head of this small gathering, not that she was taking up the mantle of Arthur. Since she was present at the time of the shooting, had reconnoitred the area and had the most actionable intel so far, she was assigned monitor for this little conference.  It was one of her first times leading a meeting at Kingsman. Herding cats seemed suddenly very relatable.  She was never one to be nervous or doubt her abilities, but the presence of three alpha males, each with strong personalities and convictions, two whose lives could depend on the conversation, kept her at the top of her game.

They were discussing the possibilities when Gwendolyn surmised.

“The way I see it, we are all agreed this was not a random shooting.”

Harry nodded. With his brow drawn together in concentration,  he was listening intently. Eggsy, twiddling his pen, was still pissed that they hadn’t even had a chance to return fire at the tossers. Agent Tequila was staring at Gwendolyn, throwing her a wink every time she glanced in his direction.

She chose to ignore everyone except Harry.

She was cautious not to let her gaze rest on him too long. Despite their evening together in the lounge, Harry treated her exactly the same as he always had. Helpful and kind. Still critical in moments where he knew she could do better. Supportive when he needed to be. He didn’t distance himself in any way. He was comfortable at her side, lightly touching her shoulder, her hand, her back when it was appropriate. If anything, she was modifying her own behaviour. She was careful not to touch him first or stand too close.  If she knew he was nearby or heard his footsteps, with his stride long and purposeful, her body would tense and her heart would beat faster as he approached.

If her eyes wandered and accidentally caught his gaze, he would throw her a wink and the tiniest hint of a smile before she had the chance to look away.  This new twinkle was the only change that she noticed. She had to struggle not to blush every time she saw it. She was determined not to blush in front of these three agents. She spoke clearly and with authority.

“This was a very specific attempt to hit very specific targets. In cases where low-fi is used, it is typically implemented when the actual adversary is either extremely powerful, well known, or technologically advanced, perhaps all three and therefore, wants to avoid using their own resources so they can remain unknown.”

“What about catching the perps?” suggested Eggsy, who still wanted to deliver a job to the face to someone, at the very least.

“The chances of apprehending the actual shooters is slim, but we can still approach that angle.”

She thought for a moment, then added.

“Perhaps we can give them an incentive to inform on their employer. However, I’m sure they have been threatened in the extreme to NOT cooperate with anyone seeking their information. In any case, we may be wasting time looking at a dead end.”

Her father had always looked at the bigger picture and she concentrated on doing the same.  

“What I find most suspicious, is the lack of direct, beneficial outcome resulting in the elimination of the targets.”, she said seriously. She was searching for the improbable.

“Thanks, yeah, for putting it so warmly.” Eggsy said, vaguely amused.

She raised her eyebrows a him, shaping her face into someone that should not be interrupted.

Agent Tequila offered his view point. It wasn’t very helpful, either.

“Seems like someone just wants to get rid of Kingsman. That’s one long ass streak of bad luck.” He shook his head. “Sorry boys, it looks like ya’ll got a lot of folks who wanna see you go down.”

Gwendolyn circled the conversation back to the topic at hand.

“What I mean is, what’s the goal?”

“Eh, to kill us, obviously.” Eggsy said pointedly, looking at the others for agreement. He leaned back in his chair. He assumed that was evident.

“Of course.” Gwendolyn explained with more patience than she felt.

“That’s the action.” She added, questioning, “What is the equal and opposite reaction that they are expecting to achieve?”

She focused on Harry and Eggsy.

“The two of you are obviously integral to Kingsman, but as someone who has been part of the beating heart of these kinds of agencies, they’re going about it the wrong way.”

“How so?” asked Harry. At least he was being encouraging.

“If your goal is to disable an organization, you don’t get rid of the players in the field.” She explained.

“You take out a source of power, such as information, communications. You wipe out their computer system, or target their armoury, or drain their funds. If you are going to take someone off the board, you take out the person who controls access. Sabotage. Make them inoperable, so that no matter how many men they have, no matter how large their army, they are not able to fight. They no longer have means of support.”

At the mention of sabotoge, armoires, wiping out systems, the other two men listened to her with increasing interest.

“That leaves the adversary free to continue their illegal activities without interruption. Not having to deal with threats gives them more resources for whatever generates them money and or power.”

“Not to offend, but after the beating the agency took after V-Day and the absolute knock out from The Golden Circle, most of your efforts have been on regrouping, rebuilding, reestablishing Kingsman’s presence. Kingsman has been mostly laying low. If you were on a revenge list, or you had an enemy that wanted to destroy Kingsman for good, that would have been the most opportune time. While the agency was at its weakest.”

She paused, making sure the men were both paying attention and following her train of thought. Her mind was working on all the possibilities. Experience told her that this was not a simple case of retribution. She was narrowing in on her point.

“Taking out two random agents - “

Eggsy drew back his head and balked, “Beg your pardon. Random?”

Even Harry looked vaguely offended.

Male egos, Gwendolyn thought.

“No offence meant of course. But, ultimately, when you get to the crux of it, in the end you are both agents. Exceptional agents, without a doubt. But taking out two agents, without a focused skill that the organisation’s structure relies on, has no point.”

“Unless,” she said, “that IS the point.”

Now the three agents all had the similar look of confusion on their faces. Three sets of furrowed brows and narrowed eyes turned toward her for clarification.

“Assassination.” She arrived at her point and from here, she was thinking out loud as much as presenting them with information.

Harry was intrigued and nodded slightly to himself. Eggy looked equally surprised and thoughtful. Even Tequila stopped looking at her as if she were a county fair ride he wanted to hop on and started to look involved.

“Assassination has two main purposes. To take out a political figure, a head of state, to disrupt the flow of command. Or, to demoralise the people under their leadership. In your case, you’ve already lost your head of state twice in the past two years.”

She turned to Harry.

“Harry, you’re not even officially Arthur. In fact, Kingsman is yet to designate a permanent head of state. Eliminating that position would do little to disrupt your chain of command. That logic is flawed.”

She continued to clear her path of reasoning, sifting the crucial from the non-essential.

“What’s left?” She asked.

“To demoralise the soldiers?” She made a point of looking around at the empty chairs.

“What soldiers? Most of your agency was destroyed, the agents killed. There are only a handful of working agents who are all out in the field. Most of them are not even in contact until their mission is complete. I have the feeling that we could all be blown up again and those agents would just continue on with their daily operations.”

“That’s lovely.” murmured Eggsy.

“It’s true, though.” Harry said in support.  Most of the agents in the field, the few that they had, were more than capable of handling their missions on their own with little support from HQ.

She leaned back into her chair until they were all awaiting her to continue. Assassination, was an interesting motive, aside from the actual killing and dying aspect.

“Another reason for an assassination,” she was honing the idea in her mind as she was speaking,  “Is to show the power of the organisation behind the killing.”

Her eyes narrowed as she circled her conclusion.

“I believe this was a show.” Her voice was low, secure with her words. Not too dissimilar from a gang initiation ritual, she thought.

“I theorise that this was an attempt of an organisation who has newly arrived into power. They are solidifying their new position by making a statement and asserting dominance over their rivals.”

The men began to shift in their seats, uncomfortable at the thought of a new powerful adversary.

“Please, gentleman. Hear me out.”

At the sound of being addressed gentleman, all three agents straightened up and, with respect, gave Gwendolyn their attention. There were some benefits of being a lady in a room full of men.

“What both of you are,” she said, speaking to both of the Galahads, “is venerated in the intelligence community and feared by the network of criminals around the world.”

She turned toward the younger, brash agent by Harry’s side. “Eggsy, you almost single handedly took out Richmond Valentine and stopped V-Day from being the world catastrophe that it could have been.”

He shrugged, a rare show of modesty for him. Though Gwendolyn had an inkling that he was being facetious. The shrug was more in the lines of “Who, what? Me? Nah, it was nothin.”

Now she turned to the older of the two. Fully engaged in the subject matter, Gwendolyn did not let her eye contact falter this time.

“Harry is part of spy lore now. Let all alone all that he’s done in the course of his career. And then to have survived Valentine’s bullet to the face? Essentially cheated death and to return in time to thwart the largest global hostage situation in history? With Eggsy? Of course, all missions are covet. Classified.  But word gets around through underground channels. For those on either side of good or evil. They must be aware of your existence. They’ve heard of your missions. They might not know exactly who you are, but apparently someone does.”

Harry, in his own dignified manner, accepted the compliments as a matter of fact.

“After the collapse of the Golden Circle, what better opportunity for those in the underworld to try to make a grab for power? It was all of their infighting that allowed you the time and space to rebuild. It seems like their restructuring is in place. Now, whoever has filled the void, needs to establish the new pecking order.  What better way than to take out the two most recognisable agents from one of the oldest, most respected agencies?” She asked the men rhetorically.

Gwendolyn knew what action needed to be taken.

“We need to know who the new power players are.” She said firmly.

The timing was outstanding. “Now what is the be all and end all, of all Galas?  Where only the richest, the most famous, and the most powerful go to see and be seen. THE event that not only national governments around the world use to network, but also the leaders that work underground, through less legitimate channels?

Harry and Eggsy looked at each other. They came to the same conclusion.

“The Monarch’s Ball.” They both said.

“Exactly.” Gwendolyn said emphatically.

“Sounds like a party.” Agent Tequila added.

This time, Harry, Eggsy and Gwendolyn confirmed simultaneously.

“It is.”

----

Thanks for hanging in there! Some chapters may be better than others....

[fuckyeahharryhart]

PART 2 HARRY HART FAN FICTION Because they better give him a good story for the last Kingsman. In case they don’t, I wrote something myself.

PART 2

FAN FIC

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED

MULTI PART SERIES:(My version of Kingsman 3)

Harry Hart x Original Character

Warnings: Reference to violence

Word Count: 5,900

OVERVIEW: After the events of Kingsman, The Golden Circle, Harry, Eggsy and the rest of the survivors rebuild their agency to it’s former level of integrity. A new player arrives unexpectedly, carrying memories of the past that will change the future of Kingsman.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Harry and Eggsy try to discover who this new players is, how they were at the right place and the right time, and what they know about kingsman. A marksman of that caliber isn't someone to take lightly.

------

Bloody hell. Harry's hand was still stinging with heated pain from having his key fob, of all bloody things, shot out of hand. His knee was out of sorts from dropping, face down, to the pavement. Hearing gunshots ring out from, not one, but two different directions did not improve his mood or his state of mind.  Continuing to roll as he hit the ground, he switched to his side so he could draw his weapon. But first, he turned toward the direction of the original fire. That was the shooter who caught his interest. A marksman with the precision to shoot a key fob from that distance, within centimetres of his hand without (well without significant) injury was someone not to underestimate. He could make a shot like that. He had plenty of times at the Kingsman shooting range. But that was aiming at a non-moving target in a controlled environment, under the best of circumstances. The only other time he fired a shot that exacting was in Cambodia. While wrestling a certain Agent Whiskey for control of a firearm, he was able to free Eggsy from a lasso looped around his neck by shooting clean through the rope. He assumed landing that shot was 1/4 luck, 1/4 technique and 1/2 his sheer force of will.

Very few marksman possessed the natural talent, training and skill to land that shot. Even less in London proper and he was almost certain that all of those individuals even close to that level, were under Kingsman’s employ.

Under the cover of shadows and partially hidden by a gate column, he spotted the shooter. At the same time, the shooter spotted him and they made split second eye contact. Obviously, the shooter did not want to be witnessed judging from the displeased look that he had noted. But rather than ducking out of view, they kept their stance, provided cover fire until the area was cleared and the threat was gone. And then, without a moments hesitation, the person holstered their weapon and turned abruptly in the opposite direction and began to walk off with long, measured steps. He and Eggsy dusted themselves, gestured to the other, nodded and made off in opposite directions in the attempt to cut the person off at the path. As he smoothed down his suit and adjusted his cuffs, he was quite certain that he was never going to enjoy a peaceful evening again.

——

She didn’t waste valuable seconds checking her phone, grateful that she took the extra time to map her locations in her head. Quickly referring to her orientation, she saw three viable options. Directly in front of her was the Royal Academy. Though it was vast and beautiful and filled with courtyards and eaves, arches, doorways, ideal to drop a tail, it was also closed and quiet. There was no crowd to get lost in. A single person moving in that space would surely be noticed.

She weighed her two other options against each other. Both were about equal in distance. No more than a 10 min walk in either direction. To her right was Mayfair. Situated in the heart of the city, it was one of the most expensive and exclusive areas of London with swanky five-star hotels, shops, restaurants, bars and pubs. Bond Street was sure to be packed with people enjoying the nightlife. Perhaps in another lifetime she could enjoy an evening out in such a place. Not at the moment.

On the plus side, the streets were more random, intersecting at odd places, without the usual grid format. That gave her more exit options. They would less likely follow the same path. Downside, as much as she would enjoy an elegant evening out, she was not appropriately attired. Of course, there would be the usual strong of tourists and visitors that would be similarly inappropriately attired. Even though she would blend in with part of the crowd, she didn’t want to stand out in anyway. Plus, if she needed to tuck into a shop or a restaurant, she wanted to blend with the locals and not the tourists. And she wasn’t going to do that with her nondescript outfit.  Or, she would find herself in a situation where someone would ask to take her jacket. She would have to politely refuse because of her shoulder holster and her gun. They would insist. Then it would become an uncomfortable situation for everyone involved. Awkward and uncomfortable would be hard NOT to notice.

A ten minute walk to her left would drop her in ever trendy Soho. A little louder, a little more rowdy and relaxed, Soho was more happy hour than cocktail hour. The way there would have more traffic, both car and pedestrian, but it was also more direct and brightly lit. More importantly, she would be able to blend with the locals, not just the tourists. Maybe even slip into a pub or bar for the glass of wine she so desperately could use. There would be more viable places to manuever, evade, and find cover. More opportunity to lose a tail. And less likely for a messy confrontation.

Though she didn’t stick around long enough, she was fairly certain that the two men were following her.  She kept in mind that they were trained with the same skills and likely had the same natural talent and instincts as she did. Part of her plan was to move slightly against instinct, find the ideal move and then, proceed with something slightly different. But they had to be thinking the same thing.

Shit. The shooters might still be in the area. Depending on whether or not they had backup, if this was an isolated threat on a personal level or if was on an organisational level, she couldn’t be sure that the coast was clear in that direction. When in doubt, take precaution. There were too many unknowns, too many unanswered questions and her preference was to get away without further contact. Since she couldn’t do it clean, she wanted to avoid any additional messiness.

Typical, she thought, making her way through the last of the shoppers and the first of the evening revellers. At the moment she was making progress and feeling more in control of her circumstances, some prick with a gun comes in and has to spray bullets over all the blocks that she spent the last month building. With care and precision, she arranged and rearranged, stacking and re-stacking, until she had created a platform where she could make her move. All her variables were in place. She calculated the possible outcomes and was so close to having a plan. There was some satisfaction, knowing that she had put an equal damper on their scheme, but when success of their plan meant the death of two people, and her plans would only work if those two people were alive, It didn’t leave her much of a choice.

Evasion was as much about mindset as it was movement. She took a mental pause, reset her outlook. Plans only fail if you allowed them to fail.  Plans change and hers just did. Focus on clearing out first and then she could regroup and consider her options. If she let her frustrations distract her, she would end up missing details and she had not come this far to make bad decisions. Even in the smallest circumstances, she learned how to turn off emotions, cutting off thoughts and inconvenient emotions. Unfortunately, it was usually the thoughts about the situation she was in, that caused troubling emotions, such as her frustration at the turn of events. But if she walled off those thoughts for the time being, she would be more likely to operate with logic and clarity.

To her advantage, she had a head start, she knew the situation she was dealing with, two known variables on her tail, one unknown threat that could possibly be armed and still in the area. Likely, all three of them knew the area so there was no upper hand in that case. Two would be on foot, probably split to cover more area. It was to her disadvantage that there were two of them, but would be easier to confront them individually if it came to that.

She assumed that they also saw her as a threat. Regardless whether or not her actions had saved their lives, she was still an unknown, an armed and dangerous, one at that. She had to expect hostility, possibly aggression if confronted. It was a situation she would prefer to avoid.

Her steps were light and relaxed. She paced herself neither too fast, nor too slow. Rushing would call attention. She avoided looking around overtly, but she used her periphery to scan the people and places around her. On the plus side, two handsome men in Saville Row bespoke would definitely turn heads. Especially the tall one, who stood inches over the average person. They couldn’t take off their suit coats either. Not with their own weapons and shoulder holsters.

She took a quick left off the main road. A few blocks over and then she could make another turn toward Soho and break up the straight line she was currently traveling. Maybe stop in Central for a quick diversion. Stay on the move. Be aware of her surroundings. Those were her two priorities. Casually checking her 360 along the way by using any reflections she saw, footsteps, noises she heard, neck stretching every few steps to check blind spots. And for a little while, she did just fine.

That is, until she found herself caught in a standing rear choke hold. Fuck.

———

Wherever the hell this person had materialised from, Harry thought, these were not the customs of a novice agent. From weaponry, tactics and evasion, their actions were one hundred percent on point. They should be only a suggestion in the wind by now. The single reason he was able to catch them unaware was because of new Kingsman tech. Just developed, airborne nano GPS trackers. Designed to mark a large group of targets from a distance, they were tiny particles, almost invisible by the naked eye. Programmed to navigate toward the wavelengths of infrared radiation emitted by the human body, specifically at the signature of 12 micron.  Best for outdoor use, or in large open spaces, these capsules were broken and released into the air where the prevailing wind would transport the nano GPS transmitters and attach to the nearest known radiation signature. The tracking range could vary depending on the windspeed, air density and how many capsules were released. They were handy to track large crowd movement, not typically used to track a single person. But it was all he had on hand. Since the street was empty at the time, they had a good chance that some GPS attached. Using the process of elimination to rule out unintentional attachments, they could isolated the movement they were looking for. They were looking for someone who moved like a spy.

This person, whoever they were, made all of the decisions that he would have and then added some surprise evasion tactics that he wouldn’t have thought of. They surely would have gotten away if not for the trackers. It wasn’t absolutely necessary that they locate the person. But they were an unknown entity. He wasn’t sure if they were an adversary, an ally, or a neutral player. Neutral players were not known for being experts at tradecraft. That left adversary or ally. With the events of the past two years and the most recent destruction of Kingsman by the Golden Circle, unanswered questions usually returned on their own, carrying an unfavourable answer.  Granted, the person saved their lives, but they already knew too much of Kingsman. Knew of threats of which Kingsman was not aware. So when chance invited him to make a move, to quietly sneak behind the person at the last second, he took it.

——

This is not why I spent four weeks planning, she fumed silently. Her mood was grim. Of course it would be at this exact moment that she registered the slightest contact from behind, like a passing breeze brushing against her. But she knew displaced air when she felt it.  Based on her position, facing forward, added to the position he was in, directly behind her, also facing forward, that would have to equal a rear standing choke hold. Instantly, she countered, dropping her chin to her chest like it belonged there, denying him the chance to press his forearm against the front of her neck. A chokehold had two purposes, either to crush the windpipe, resulting in death. Not the outcome she was looking for. Or, to cut off blood to the brain via the carotid artery, leaving her unconscious. Which wasn’t much of a consolation prize. Either way, she had just about 12 seconds to act. Since both options were less than desirable, she shielded her throat as best she could and waited for the window were she could counter like a small, but fierce animal.

The strength of his grip said that he wasn’t going for either option, but told her he using the hold as a restraint. So, she had that going for her, she thought darkly. Yet, he still had the capacity to follow through on either option. There was no give to his grip. Twisting out of the hold was not an option without more leeway. Not one to be held in a vulnerable position, her goal was to escape. Several ways presented themselves, few of which incorporated an unrestrained elbow or kick to the groin. Her aim was not to incapacitate, regardless of how satisfying that may be, but to extricate herself.

Based on sheer size and strength, she was highly disadvantaged. But, as a woman in the field, only relying on your strength, you’d get beaten every time. Women didn’t have to fight harder. They had to fight smarter. Not only did she have to use her size and weight to her advantage, she had to use his size and strength against him. With the obvious discrepancy in height, not that she was short. Five foot nine made her taller than average, but at 6’ 2”, he was also taller than average. Her best option? Leverage. Literally.  Use him as lever. It was the move where he would be at a disadvantage and she would have the clear advantage. There was some consolation to be found, knowing they were also expert spies, but not enough to spare herself the embarrassment of being caught. Summoning her nerve, one deep inhalation, she thought, and she would be ready.

He smells nice.

The thought landed without warning. It didn’t merely land. It hit her. It hit her hard and with feeling. Her concentration stuttered. It was the scent of wood, leather, spices and a hint of something warm, rich and slightly sweet, like a velvety dark chocolate. And then there was a breath of something unexpected. A note she couldn’t identify. It was him, she realised. That was his smell. It was a good smell. A masculine smell. She was suddenly aware of his wool suit against her chin. She noticed the pinstripes against a navy as dark as the sky. The crisp white of his French shirt cuffs and the gold of his cufflinks that held them in place.

Her senses were wide open. They always were on hyperdrive when she was out in the field. That was expected. She relied on them to send her signs that she didn’t have the time to look for. But now, they were receiving all the wrong signals and sending all the wrong messages. Intensely. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the shadow of his hand. His large, wide palm was warm on the back of her neck.  By pressing her neck forward and down, it was this hand that locked the chokehold in place.

What the hell? she thought. She felt the strength of his forearms underneath her own palms. Her hands were gripping him so tightly she could feel the cords of muscle through his sleeve. Suddenly, her body became all too aware of his own. The sensation of him, the entire length of his body against hers, awakened her own. He wasn’t just standing behind her, he was bearing the whole of his body into hers. Thus, she was counter balancing with equal force. Generating heat and pressure between them.  Realising how close, how intimate, how physical, literally, their contact was at that moment, overwhelmed her reason, her logic, her objectivity. And most of all, she was aware of the man behind her. Not as a target, or a mark, or a tail or a problem to be solved. It was him. It was Harry Hart.

He must have sensed a slight shift in her energy because once that random, startling thought struck home, she didn’t dare move until she knew where it was heading and what she was going to do with it. She probably stopped breathing. Maybe that’s what he noticed because all of a sudden she felt dizzy and lightheaded. Maybe he was holding her a little tighter than she thought. He must have noticed a change because just as suddenly, his grip loosed by a fraction, not enough to escape, but enough to jar her back to the present. He was confusing her and she was angry at being confused.

She was on pause and someone had just hit the reset button. Instantly, she made her next move and she went into action fully committed. There was no hesitation in a move like this. To her advantage, their height difference meant that he had to lean down slightly to get his forearm around her neck, which shifted his center of gravity slightly forward. With his tight grip, she pushed against it, creating the energy of opposing forces to gain momentum. With her neck guarded by her chin, she quickly dropped down to one knee, gripped tightly onto his wrists and forearms, leaned back into him to get the tiniest bit of additional momentum, and then bent forward as sharply as she could from her waist, throwing the full force of her weight into the move and tucking in as tight as possible. Sure enough, with his weight already off center, using her body as a fulcrum, a pivot point, and using his height as a lever, she forced him to tumble over her head.

Normally, after a move such as this, that put her at a tactically advantageous position, she would either evade or go in for an attack move and neutralise the threat. This was not the way she wanted to introduce herself to these two men, but it looked like fate wasn’t giving her any options. She was not prepared for this situation. She didn’t have claim over the next move.  It could be either of theirs. Brushing her hair away from her eyes, she cursed herself for not having a hair tie, of all things. She paused for a moment. Her cap got knocked off during her manoeuvre. Wonderful, all these identifiers, now facial features, and the damn hair. She should handover her passport and smartphone and just get it over with. How did this evening turn so sideways?

She took a mental pause. Footsteps. His colleague. Who didn’t know what he was walking into. She quite certain it did not look like afternoon tea.

When she heard the brushing noise of a weapon being pulled out of its holster she went back on high alert. They had most definitely past the “direct contact” portion of the evening. As much as she did not want to do them harm, she was more than willing to talk, she equally, did not want to be on the interrogation end of a gun. She had another split second to decide her course of action. Two was much more complicated.

All three of them knew the rules of weaponry in the field and in engagement. Never pull a gun in a circumstance you’re not willing to use it. Never aim at a target you’re not willing to shoot. It wouldn’t have been her first choice, but when she had a lethal weapon aimed in her direction, it left her with few options.

She never had an opportunity to use it before, but it was ideal for this circumstance and what she had planned. She palmed her carbonfiber graphene tactical knife, short, less than 5”in length, from its discreet sleeve at her hip.  It’s description stated, “A device for specific close quarters combat manoeuvres in very focused special circumstance scenarios with high impact.” This circumstance would fall under that category, she thought.

The upper hand was all she needed to gain, to have a moment where they would be forced to listen to her. Grace, eloquence… She tossed those out the proverbial window. Her words would have the hardest strike. The most impact. Not her knife, not her gun, not any weapon. Now was not the time for finesse.  Once again, she had to turn shitty odds in her favours before the man she just flipped could reorient himself.  She wanted to be sorry that it had come to this, but she was just making her counter move. It didn’t matter if it was personal or not. This part, at least for her, was the business aspect of her work. Similar to negotiating a deal, but using weapons and lives as bargaining points.

The knife firmly in her grip, she raised the blade and held its lethal edge against his carotid artery with enough pressure to be VERY uncomfortable, and almost, but not break skin. He was smart and followed the direction guided by pressure of her blade hand and rose with her to a standing position. She stood behind him, angled slightly toward one side. He knew that any counter move on his part, which there were many he could take, and in this case his strength and mass would be at his advantage. She was in a very vulnerable physical position and he could take her down easily. If it weren’t for the knife at the side of his neck. The blade was very small, very light and most of all, it was very, very sharp and designed for close, personal combat.  Easy to handle, low pressure point. Which meant, whether or not his move disabled her he would, no doubt, be pulling away with nothing less than a very serious neck wound.

“Stop.” she called out firmly. “Gun down on the ground.”

The man who was under her knife, indicated, Do what she says.

He placed his gun on the ground and stood with his hands in the air.

She knew he was weighing his options, just as she did her own.

Her voice was clear and just loud enough so he could hear her where he stood.

Seriously, like this was what she needed. Did they really have to go through all this fuss?  Spies could be exhausting.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

She kept her voice conversational. Of no consequence or concern and certainly not threatening.

“Do you have enough time to disarm me and get help for your friend, Harry, before he bleeds out?”

She felt the slightest flinch when he heard the sound of his name. Not Arthur or Galahad. His given name.

“You’re quite fast, Eggsy, but not that fast.”

Now Eggsy’s turn as his eyes narrowed both suspicious and surprised. Not Galahad. Not even Gary, but Eggsy.

Ok, making progress, she thought. She had just shown her first card. She knew exactly who they were. Not just their code names. Their real ones.

To drive her point home.  “Just the tiniest amount of pressure on his carotid artery, thats all I need. 68 seconds until he loses consciousness. My knife, which you probably can’t see from where you are standing, but he can certainly feel,” she nodded her head toward Harry, “is designed to pierce fast and deep. If I had a regular blade, he might come out clean, but not with this one. Please, sincerely, think twice, for his sake, about making any sudden movements.”

Good. Neither of them made an attempt to move. Not even a twinge. She continued. She didn’t know how long the odds would be in her favour. At this point, she was playing fast and loose. Something she rarely did and she was not used to. One of her biggest strengths was her ability to prepare. This was not a scenario that she had imagined.

“I know either of you could disable me, but not without me doing a fair amount of damage first.”

It wouldn’t be her first choice to do harm, but she was in no mood for additional fuckery and she wanted to make it abundantly clear that, though she was no match for them in terms of brute strength, she had plenty of ways to dominate a fight using strategy. She wasn’t stronger, but she could be smarter. She wasn’t above shedding blood to prove that she was not to be underestimated.

“I didn’t start this fight, but I’m more than happy to finish it.”

She added, “You see how well trained I am. You should be asking yourself why i haven’t killed him, or either of you, already.”

Did they really have to be so obstinate? Obstreperous. Truculent?  They should have been asking themselves that question after she took the first shot. They could very easily be dead right now if it were not for her.  She needed to prove to them she was not a threat to their lives. Against all of her training, she laid her second card down.

 “And ask yourself,” she repeated. “perhaps why, then, I would let him go.”

Very carefully, very slowly, and very deliberately, she softened the pressure against his neck until the blade was no longer making contact. She continued to draw it far away from him, far enough to clear so not to do any damage, before she began to lower it. She took a few steps back, hands up, the knife still visible in her right, but with a carry hold, not an active grip.

Imagine her surprise when Harry turned on her, twisted her wrist until she had to drop the knife. Not without force. She resisted the split second she saw what was happening. She knew in this case, she didn’t have an immediate out, but that didn’t mean she had to make it easy for him. Rather than conserving her energy, she fought him and fought him with force, until she saw his face grimace with the effort.

Good, she thought.

She made some pretty satisfying contact before he was able to push her all the way back against the red brick warehouse. The wall gave her less room to maneuver. She landed one last, very satisfying kick to his shin. It wasn’t a fancy move. There was no technique involved. She just put all her grit behind that single kick and the connection she made was very gratifying, despite her situation. She hoped it left huge bruise to remember her by. It was obviously painful and hurt him enough that he shoved her away fairly hard. The back of her head knocked into the bricks with a force that she wouldn’t have considered gentlemanly.

Well, she did have a knife to his carotid just a few moments ago, she countered. She supposed turn about was fair play. This time, he was able to get his forearm across her throat and braced his right wrist with the circle of his left hand. Standing arm bar hold. She had no counter this time, seeing since Eggsy had his gun again and it being much harder to escape a bullet than a choke hold. So, that move did not have the impact that she thought it would.

She knew they had to have this conversation, but she was pissed. At them, but she admitted, begrudgingly, that she was mostly pissed at herself for letting her guard down. To be fair, they really had no idea who she was. And until they did, she would remain a threat. But she still had one more card. She was just waiting for the chance to use it.

——

What the bloody fuck had just happened? Harry Hart was not one to get caught off guard. But he was miffed that it happened this evening. Not only once, but three bloody times, and he had just quite enough of whatever fuckery was happening around him. First, the key fob, then the chokehold, then the bloody knife. Well, my dear, he thought, two can play this game. He wasn’t above fighting dirty. Sometimes the situation insisted on it. It seemed as if this was one of those times.

As soon as she let down her guard sufficiently enough for him to act, he twisted her arm, forcing her to drop the knife. But she wasn’t making things easier for him, or for herself, for that matter. Even though he clearly had the upper hand, she fought him the entire time. She, too, apparently wasn’t above a little dirty dealing when she landed a kick to his shin. A very hard, directed kick, not meant to disable, not in an attempt to escape, a kick just purely meant to cause him pain. A bit more than cheeky. He finally pushed her, maybe just a tad harder than he anticipated, until her head knocked back and hit the warehouse wall behind her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eggsy had taken the opportunity to retrieve his gun and provide cover. Her eyes quickly darted in the same direction, confirmed the same thing that he saw and then stared at him furiously. Whether the fury was directed toward him or to her change in circumstance, most likely both, he could not be certain.

Making sure his arm bar would prevent any further roughhousing, Harry spoke, adopting almost the same conversational tone as she had. She wasn’t sure if he was matching her tone to respect her or mock her. This time she felt free to show as much aggression as she felt like. There was no consequence at this point. She tossed her damn hair out of her face.

——

As she flipped her hair to the side, Harry, by instinct, began to document her features so, if needed, he could provide a detailed description of her should it ever become necessary. Tall, 5’ 8 1/2 - 9. Slim build, but athletic, lean muscular rather than simply thin. Age was hard to determine, she looked both very young, but her eyes, they were both wise and melancholy. A look that only came with time and experience. Her eyes seemed to say that they had already seen too much. She was anywhere from mid twenties to mid thirties. He noticed that her eyes were grey. Grey, and they had a slight almond shape to them. Tilted just enough to give her an air of mystery. Dark lashes, dark hair and much of it. Long. Wavy. It was shiny and looked very soft. Dusky fair skin with just an undertone of warm olive. Cheeks pink, with displeasure, he thought, or embarrassment, certainly not because she was flattered by the attention. Her mouth was small and delicate, her lips pressed together in a firm line. Also pink. She was quite becoming. Beautiful even. He tried to determine her ethnicity, but found himself unable to place her exotic, yet subtle, delicate features.

Harry caught himself.  He wasn’t just documenting her features. It wasn’t bloody like him.These were not the most appropriate thoughts for the moment.

She noticed him noticing her. She didn’t know what he was noticing, so she grew even more frustrated. She obviously didn’t care about keeping her expressions to herself any longer. It was quite loud and clear what she was thinking. It was written all over her face.

He came back to his words. In his calm, deep voice, he asked her three simple questions.

“Who are you? Who do you work for, and why did you shoot at us?”

A firm set to her jaw and with equal composure, she answered his questions without hesitation, but in her own order.

“I” she emphasised, “didn’t shoot at you.” she added under her breath, “I was aiming for your key fob.”

“I work for no one.” She halted, her eyes pulling their full attention to hers.

She laid down her last card.

“My name is Gwendolyn Mycroft.” she took a meaningful pause. “My father saved your lives.”

Glancing between the two of them, she saw that, as she intended, she had hit home. She added.

‘So, I suggest you release me, and let us go to a place where we can discuss this in a more civilised manner.”

She saw that both of the men were in a state of shock. She could understand. The evening hadn’t gone the way she expected either. She waited for a response that was something other than a blank stare.

“Do you like scotch?” Eggsy asked.

Well, that was a good of a start as any.

-----

If you made it this far, Thanks for reading!! Comments, questions, likes are always appreciated. Always feel free to reblog.

[fuckyeahharryhart]

PART 5 FAN FIC

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED

Summary: Harry Hart reminisces about his own military past with the British Armed Forces. He recalls the tenent that enabled him to survive as a member of the22nd Special Air Service Regiment (SAS), a unit of United Kingdom Special Forces.

WORD COUNT: 3377

Notes: These later chapters have had less time to plan - kind of literally trying things on to see what fits... :)

-----

In person, Harry Hart was also a man who had to make impossible decisions under unrelenting pressure. He had done it many times, during his time in the British Armed Forces, not just Kingsman. Many thought him to be cold and unfeeling in these instances. But even within these circumstances, he was still Harry Hart. Brave, dependable, strong and honourable. He was an advocate, a protector, an anchor. A rock within the Kingsman agency. Everything a mentor and leader should be. If fellow agents found themselves more and more often at his side, they would catch themselves beginning to wonder about the man who wore the impeccably tailored suit. The man behind the smooth, deep, steady voice. About the man himself. The man whose code name was Galahad.

He was an agent that lived up to his handle.  It was a noble name. Courageous. A name for a figure renowned for his gallantry and purity. A name bestowed upon the most perfect of all knights. It befitted him.

Harry was a gentleman through and through. It was impossible for him to be anything else. He was not only a gentleman in traditional terms, an upholder of chivalry, civility, well-mannered and unerringly polite. He was also a gentle man. This would seem incongruous with his work. However, it was part of the reason he was exceedingly good at his job. As soon as the work was done, the target neutralised, the mission complete, he let it all go. Letting any hardness or indifference fall away. Completely. He consistently put his life and the lives of others on the line, many times in very unpleasant circumstances, to say the least. To maintain a sense of balance, to maintain his sanity, not to speak of his humanity, the moment he took off his glasses, he was no longer Agent Galahad, he was Harry Hart.

Deadly assassins were not typically regarded as gentle. But Harry was not by nature a violent man. Neither was he destructive or combative, unlike many of his contemporaries who were drawn to the work because of its brutal nature. Harry was a Kingsman agent because he believed strongly in their purpose to uphold the good and protect the innocent, but also because he was just exceptionally good at the work. The art of spy craft and engagement. Exceedingly good. Disconcertingly good. In the same way one might be a talented piano player, or dancer or an artist. Like Gwendolyn mentioned, it was part a part of him.

He never questioned these skills. He considered them as natural to his character as his height or his brown eyes. He lived them for the majority of his life. He applied them in a manner that would best serve himself and the greater good.

Though he never spoke of it, most of his experience prior to Kingsman, he received during his training and deployment in the British Armed Forces. When he left the military, he was an officer of the 22nd Special Air Service Regiment (SAS), a unit of United Kingdom Special Forces, a highly trained and specialised division of the British Army.

If Kingsman was the buffer that had honed and polished Harry Hart into the refined gentleman agent he was today, the SAS was chisel that first carved the man out of the potential stone. The SAS Special Forces had much in common with Kingsman.  Special operations were already a part of his lifestyle. Much like the agents of Kingsman, the men of SAS were especially designated, organised, selected, trained and equipped. They utilised unconventional techniques and modes of employment.

The 22nd Special Air Service Regiment was responsible for covert reconnaissance, counter-terrorism, direct action, unconventional warfare and hostage rescue. Much of the information and actions regarding the SAS were highly classified, and were never commented on by the British government nor the Ministry of Defence due to the sensitivity of their operations. For Harry, discretion was not just advised, it was demanded.

He operated behind enemy lines, avoiding direct combat and detection by the enemy. He led commando operations, highly mobile , highly intense surprise raids. His role frequently involved covert direction of air and missile attacks, in areas deep behind enemy lines, placement of remotely monitored sensors and guerrilla operations.

The similarities only went so far. SAS utilised more traditional weapons of combat and warfare, riffles, machine guns, flash bangs, grenades. Whereas Kingsman had the freedom to me more creative, or constraints that made it necessary for additional ingenuity with it’s artillery, often fashioning gentlemanly accessories into lethal weapons. The SAS formal dress khaki uniforms weren’t as stylish and well tailored as Kingsman’s suits, but he did note that as SAS, the cap badge on his sand coloured beret depicted a downward pointing Excalibur, a sword wreathed in flames. Perhaps the sword was a foreshadow of his future as one of the twelve Kingsman’s knights.

If any of his colleagues were to know of his history with the SAS, the would probably respond with confusion. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe Harry Hart to to have the necessary skills. It was that they couldn’t imagine, their stylish, debonair, perfectly appointed quintessential gentleman secret agent in any other role other than Galahad. They were much more familiar with Harry in a Kingsman suit, taking out thugs with his weaponised brolly, rather than the iconic black overalls and the S6 British Army respirator of the SAS, carrying a Heckler and Koch MP5A3, or a C8 Carbine assault rifle, as well as any other item or weapon he might need in battle.

For those agents that were employed long enough with Kingsman, or heard stories passed around the years, it was suspected that Harry was a part of the Counter Revolutionary Blue team for Operation Nimrod during the Iranian Embassy siege. In 1980, from April 30th for a period of 6 days, a band of six heavily armed men overtook the Iranian Embassy in London. 26 people were held hostage. On the last day, after days of unsuccessful negotiations, the gunmen executed a hostage and threw his dead body from the Embassy windows. On that day, the SAS, implemented Operation Nimrod by abseiling from the roof of the embassy and breaking the windows for entry. The raid was over in just over 15 minutes. They were able to rescue all but one hostage and killed all but one of the six hostage takers. No one could confirm whether he had been involved or not. No one had the nerve or balls to ask Harry directly.

The last time Harry was on a mission of similar nature, was the capture of Falcon, a terrorist in the Middle East. He, Merlin and their recruits at the time, James and Lee, fast roped into enemy territory.  Fast roping, also known as Fast Rope Insertion Extraction System (FRIES), was a technique for descending a thick rope to access difficult locations by air. It useful for Kingsman to deploy agents into enemy territories where their helicopter could not touch down. Unfortunately, that was the mission where Harry’s mistake cost Eggsy’s father’s life. That was the last time anyone ever saw the sight of Harry in a combat jumpsuit and respirator for a mission.

“Who Dares Wins.” It was the motto of the SAS unit of the British Army Special Forces. During his time in the service, this motto was the catalyst for many dangerous operations. In regards to Kingsman, he also found it appropriate as spies weren’t in the business of truth.

The selection for the Special Forces was as brutal as Kingsman recruitment, just in different ways.They would, however, fight for the title of the most dangerous job interview in the world. SAS selection was reported to be one of the most demanding military training courses in the world with a pass rate of less than 10%. It was a six-month test of strength, endurance, and resolve over the Brecon Beacons and Elan Valley in Wales, and in the jungle of Belize. With SERE Survive, Evade, Resist, Escape training to be the most psychologically challenging aspect. A Kingsman recruit had a one in 12 chance of securing said spot. It was also a test of strength, endurance and resolve mostly over the land and sky of London and the surrounding country side. It also included some fairly challenging psychological tests including one with a train tunnel with a false floor and another with a puppy and a gun. Many candidates failed out at this point. It took about the same amount of time.

In the field, he was indispensable. His experience in the military prepared him for life as a spy. He was exceptional at nearly every aspect of being an agent as he was as a soldier. Harry was able to fit seamlessly into Kingsman’s ranks because he already had specialised skills and experience. He was a highly-trained operative, specialised in sufficiency, stealth, speed, and tactical coordination. If there was a man designed to be a Kingsman agent, Harry Hart would be that man.

——

He did not get any enjoyment from destruction, violence or bloodshed. However, he was not opposed to participating or even instigating moments of sheer mayhem. During the course of his time at Kingsman, he had obliterated many targets and had amassed a shockingly high body count. He didn’t carry any guilt or blame, nor did he celebrate the bloodshed that resulted in their victory over a target. Harry simply accepted violence as part and parcel to the work of a Kingsman agent. To be limited, when possible, though, not altogether unavoidable.

Emotions played an important role in how he operated in life, in the greater world around him. Emotions were a path to a deeper understanding of one’s self and one’s relationships with others. They motivated one’s actions or inactions.  Feelings, along with survival instincts were key to one’s decision making processes. But when there was too much or when the emotion was overwhelming, as it could be in extreme cases of conflict or in the chaos of combat, it could make a soldier dysfunction. One of the tenets that had allowed him to not only survive, but to thrive in the military was “be smart now, feel later.”

Part of his success in the SAS was due to his ability to “switch off” his emotions on-demand in moments of chaos or conflict; combat, crises and other high stress activities, basically his entire time in service. He carried this over to his work at Kingsman. His ambivalence allowed him to remain cool, composed and collected in some very unnerving, seemingly impossible situations. In these instances, when other agents might panic, freeze, or be blinded by outrage, fall victim to their own anger and lose control, time would almost freeze for Harry. Allowing him very few precious moments to hyper focus on every minute detail of the circumstance they faced. His senses would sharpen, his mind would calm, his heart rate would slow and remain steady and even. His mind would become a blank slate where every piece of information crucial to their survival was at his fingertips. Irrelevant information fell by the wayside. Emotion was set aside. Sentimentality had no place. Feelings were insignificant.

Agents who accompanied Harry on the field and found themselves is one of these dire situations, would attest to this severe, drastic, unyielding and unfamiliar Agent Galahad. Someone who could evidently act without regard for their safety, well-being, or even survival. At times, even purposely placing them in even more danger or putting another agents lives on the line as if they were inconsequential to him. He would act as if it was nothing to leave behind an injured agent if it could protect the mission. It was as if they were as insignificant to him as an empty clip, a weapon that no longer had any use to him. To be discarded and tossed aside. During these times, Harry would be the cold, dispassionate, ruthless killer that was his reputation.

It was in these hard, stone-faced moments, where he fell into a meditative state or even hypnotised himself in the matter of seconds. Sometimes, only a split second was needed for him to see the solution, the way out, the answer that would get them out of what seemed like a “death and death” situation.

Emotions defined his humanity. But it also could get in the way when he needed to be operative. Thus, on occasion, he had to defer his humanity and be cold and analytical in the field, just as he had been in battle.

In these crucial moments, he needed to see all his available choices and not just what his state of emotions gravitated toward. The more severe an emotional response was expected from any given situation, the more likely it could negatively impact his ability to resolve a difficult task, complication or crisis.

Occasionally, that solution had to disregard his agents humanity, for that sentimentality would surely cloud his judgement, make him hesitate or doubt himself at the most critical moment. They could no longer be considered friends, or even colleagues. It was necessary to strip them of their identity, regard them without pity or remorse. As collateral damage. How hard would it be to achieve this state with family or loved ones, he thought. It was in these times that pure logic had to drive his actions and not be directed by his emotions.

Emotional detachment meant that he could focus and think clearly and act with precision in matters of life and death.

In these moments, there was space in his mind for nothing else except the situation at hand. And without fail, often past the point of all hope lost, no more options, no more cards to play, he would act in a manuever that was incomprehensible to them. Unthinkable. A tactic unfathomable and impossible for anyone else but Harry. Everyone, even the agent he seemingly had no problem disregarding, would come out alive. Often disbelieving, shell-shocked, nerves shot, not unscathed. Confused and outraged. But alive. Agents who experienced this side of Harry Hart, while they continued to admire and respect him, their esteem would now also carry a touch of reverence, incredulity, and awe.

Soldiers and agents not personally involved or had no emotional interest in their work, were able to perform their jobs better. It was a form of professional detachment.

It was not that he was unfeeling. Quite the opposite. It was as if he felt too much. His ability to remove and distance himself from situations was one of the main reasons he was so successful as an agent and continued to be so. Without this survival skill, the inevitable, at times, devastating losses he had faced, and would no doubt face in the future, would break even a better man. Though one would be hard pressed to find a man better than Harry.

What was seen as dispassionate, emotionless indifference was a preservation mechanism, designed to fiercely safeguard and defend a singularly compassionate soul, with a deep reverence for human life, and an immeasurable capacity to love.

But he had never been put in as difficult a position as Merlin.

———

There were not many stories that affected Harry on both a personal and professional level, but in terms of having a difficult past lead you down the path of becoming a spy, he found hers to be the most compelling. He was, not only impressed by her skills as an agent, he was moved by her emotional resilience, fortitude, courage, and most of all, like she said her mother had, her grit.

This was a young woman, whose odds were not just against her, they were set up for her to fail and fail hard. Who was able to overcome the most brutal experiences that anyone can face, let alone a child, and come out, not only adjusted, but stronger for her experience. The last time he had witnessed such strong will and raw, natural talent, was Eggsy.  And Eggsy’s father.

He sensed what she was going to ask. What would be the ramifications if she were to join Kingsman? They could certainly use the manpower. Their ranks had been severely depleted since the Golden Circle. Merlin’s expertise and guidance was missed almost as much as they missed the man himself. He understood why Merlin, Hamish, sent her away. A constant reminder of not only the lives he lost, but also the terrible way they were taken from him. A reminder of the life he had sacrificed so much for. The constant fear for her safety. Every time she was out in the field, wondering if he had to prepare for another situation like his wife. For Harry and Eggsy, she would always be a reminder of the friend they lost and the sacrifice he made.

He softened. How would it be, to have everyone send you away because your presence would only be a painful reminder of loss?

Eggsy turned to face him, looking absurdly forlorn as well. Like she was a lost puppy that he wanted to keep.

She smoothed her hair away from her face, brushing the length of it behind her while she squared up her shoulders.

She spoke frankly. “You are the last link that I have to my father. I want to take his place.”

When neither of them replied. She added plainly.

“You clearly have some issued that need to be addressed.” Referring to the car with the shooters and that someone was actively trying to kill them.

“It looks like you could use the help.”

Harry, in his most grave and serious voice, a voice that made even Eggsy straighten up.

“This decision on your part, should not be taken easily or lightly.” He watched her intently. He leaned forward to emphasis his point. “Do you understand all of the ramifications of your choice? You could find yourself in the exact same situation you were in when you were a child. Is that a possibility you can handle?”

Also leaning forward, she matched the seriousness of his tone.

“I have no family, no connections, no ties. I have nothing of value that can be used against me. I’m a trained and experienced agent. I was raised Kingsman and there is nothing of your organization that has been hidden from me. I understand very well.”

Not anything of value now, Harry thought. But considering the future? Yet Harry himself was of the same mentality as Merlin and his wife. Nothing came out of acting now for an eventuality that may never materialise.

There was silence from the two men. She certainly wasn’t going to plead or beg. She had done her part. She told her story. If they couldn’t recognise her value, she would leave right then and there.

She tried to hide her sarcasm, but she wasn’t sure if she succeeded. She leaned back into her booth, crossed her arms over her chest. With a bit of added confrontation.

“I’ve just saved your lives. What else do I have to do to prove myself?”

Harry contemplated. Eggsy contemplated the same. Even though they didn’t know what the other was thinking, they were both thinking the same. We are agreed. For Merlin.

Harry faced her again and with all of nobility, chivalry and honour that was based on centuries of tradition. “Welcome to Kingsman.”

Gwendolyn, in equal measures of dignity and respect. “Thank you.”

Now that was done, she thought, with a little more drama than she expected, but it had all been manageable.

“So it seems we have a problem. How can I help?”

And with that simple question, Gwendolyn found herself within the ranks of Kingsman.

----

Notes:

Thanks for reading! Comments, suggestions feedback always welcome and appreciated. Even if it's just to say Hi!

[fuckyeahharryhart]

PART 4 FAN FIC KINGSMAN III: REDACTED

SUMMARY:Gwendolyn continues to tell Harry and Eggsy her story about Merlin and her family.

WORD COUNT: 5,750

WARNINGS: Violence, non MC death.

NOTE: Again, this is backstory that I'm not sure is needed in the final edit. It's still a direct narration from Gwen, but is just a way for me to get her backstory out, account for the missing time, and how she got her skills. I'm afraid that it got too melodramatic....

I still need to find a better way to work it into the whole format of the story. 

------

They were on a family picnic, a very rare opportunity for them. It was a simple occasion. A clearing in front of a meadow of tall grasses and flowers. White clouds floating in a blue sky and butterflies. She didn’t know if they actually saw butteries, but her memory of the day had butterflies.  She remembered it being a particular treat. She remembered feeling happy. And feeling loved. Looking back, it always had to happen on the most beautiful of days. She couldn’t recall the specifics, but she remembered the tone of the day. She remembered sunshine, laughing, playing simple games like tag, or riding on top of her father’s shoulders. She remembered her parents smiling at each other, hugging, their arms around each other in relaxed in a way she hardly ever got to see them. She remembered picking flowers with her mother and making flower crowns for everyone. And being very pleased when each member of the family indulged her by wearing them, even her brothers. She remembers laughing. The laughter was the last good thing she remembered from that day.

No one knew how they were ambushed. No one knew how their location was leaked. No one knew how their security was compromised. No one knew who killed their personal detail.

Gwendolyn recalled the next part like she was reading a police report and Harry’s heart went out to her.

It was fast. An almost insignificant amount of time. It happened within minutes. Her two brothers were shot on sight, killed instantly. They didn’t even know what was happening. It gave her some solace, after she understood what occurred on that day and why, that they never had the chance to feel fear. That their last experience was laughing with their family. When she was still young, she sometimes wished that she could have been with them. That her last memory could be of laughing, too.

She and her mother were kidnapped. Her father was left behind. She was too young to understand what was happening. She just knew she was scared, and at least she was with her mother. Her mother was calm the entire time. Obviously, her mother had training on what to do in the event of a kidnapping. To stay calm, to stay alive. She tried to be like her mother. She was waiting for her mother to tell her when it was time to escape. As she got older and went through the same training, she realised that her mother, if on her own, would have probably been able to escape, easily. She had the tools, she had the knowledge and most of all, she had the grit. It was just that Gwendolyn was there. And her goal was not to escape, it was to keep her daughter alive.

At a certain point, they were drugged and she lost consciousness. There was a period of time, before the end, that she can’t remember.

The only thing that she knows about this part is what she was told afterward.

Evelyn and Hamish, following the first airstrike, were preparing for a second. Additional intel came in and they were able to track Aamon’s movements. Unfortunately, with a terror organization such as his, Aamon’s influence was felt far and wide and their roots went deep. In this case, it was cut off the head of the snake, but the head can still kill. They strategized a plan, similar to the first, multiple targets, all coordinated to strike at the same time. It was like weeding a lawn. The first round got most of them, the ones that didn’t die, when they began to grow again, go in a second time to clear the rest. The coordinated attack, since it was the effort, again, of several nations and their militaries, every aspect of the final play was set to a countdown, so each party could synchronise their operation with the whole plan. In a coordinated attack like this timing was, perhaps, the most crucial aspect for success.

Her mother and father developed the blueprint of targets and the specifications for the timeline. They were the ones responsible for overseeing the countdown as they were the ones that designed the plan. The program was set to initiate the strikes on a tiered scale, different strikes ordered at different times, depending on the origin of the strike and the final target. Once the program passed the recognition stage, there was no failsafe button. Once it began, it couldn’t be cancelled. The crucial time, where the program could be stopped was during initialisation, which could take up to 30 minutes to an hour or even longer. Depending on the coordination of the programs that were initialising all over the world. It was a very complex system that took expertise to devise and designed to be impossible to stop.

Evelyn and Gwendolyn were being held for ransom. They were taken to the same location as Aamon. He was holding them hostage, as leverage, so Hamish would call off the operation. He was the only other person, other than Evelyn, that had clearance to deactivate the program. A leak, or a mole, a double agent had been filtering information to Aamon and his men. The leak was how they were able to attack their family unawares at their picnic. The leak had made a mistake though, both of them didn’t have to be present at the same time to call off the strike, either of them could still make the order without the other. And it was either of them who could also intiate the attack.

Aamon, when he discovered that they could still trigger the strike, had his men contact Hamish at his headquarters via satellite and demanded a video feed.

—

Evelyn knew every step of the plan from the locations of the targets to the details of the countdown. She understood what has happening. Aamon believed that it took both of them together to initiate the airstrike. Now he knew that Hamish could proceed on his own and he was using her and Gwendolyn as ransom. Stop the strike or they die.

Evelyn went through the entire scenario in her head, filtered through counter scenarios, weighed option after option after option, predicted outcome after outcome. But this time it wasn’t for the mission. She knew the mission would happen. She had no doubt. Everything was already in place. She planned for it and she was ready. She was not concerned with her own life. She was devising a plan to keep her daughter alive. The man who was holding them was a psychopath. She needed to make that work to her advantage.

As a psychopath, he wasn’t even original. First of all, the reciting of all of his plans, all of the ways he was able to outsmart them, the bragging, the grandiose proclamations, the self serving narcissism. It was predictable. But it did work to her advantage. Of course the man had to tell her his plans to get Hamish to stop the countdown. Just as she thought he would. There was more cold hard fury than fear inside of her so she had to tap into the fear she felt for her daughter.

Aamon would threaten Hamish with one of their lives first as a “test” as the first chance to stop the strike. If he refused, the first chance would be killed. He would have one final chance. She knew the details of the countdown by heart. Once Hamish knew where they were being held, Evie knew that he was putting plans into place to try to get them out. As with everything, it was all about timing.

She had to make sure Gwendolyn stayed safe long enough for an exfiltration team to reach her. But they could only be deployed after the system went into failsafe mode. Meaning there was no chance to turn back.

Aamon planned on using Gwendolyn first and then Evelyn, last. She knew what a mother felt when protecting her child, it was fury, but she had to set that aside and pretend that for his own sake, he use her first. Aamon would not have time to go through hostage negotiations twice. He only had time for one and that meant one chance, one person. And if he wanted to get Hamish to stop the strike, it had to be Evelyn. She told him that Hamish cared for his daughter, but not as much as his sons. That compared to the death of his sons, that threatening Gwendolyn was a waste of time and time was something that they did not have if he wanted to stop the strike. It had to be one or the other and if he really wanted Hamish to call off the mission, let her speak to him directly. She would be able to convince him. That it would be smarter for him to use Evelyn. She kept on talking for as long as he would let her, allowing her to slightly feed his ego a little more at a time. Letting the time get away from him. She wanted to be as close to the end of the countdown as possible.

He agreed to her plan like it was his own idea. As they set up the video area, she brushed her daughters hair away from her face. Told her little one to be brave and that she loved her. She kissed the top of her head. Evelyn was going to do everything she could to keep her daughter safe. She hoped it would be enough.

—

It was a handlers worst nightmare. Though not technically a handler, Hamish was in HQ making the decisions, his wife in the field with their daughter. It was a husbands and fathers worst nightmare. He had to set that part of him aside. For all of their sakes.

He had the team in place and on hold to extract his family, he just needed to keep them alive until the program went into failsafe. Once he heard that Aamon was going to put his wife, Evelyn, on the feed, he immediately knew that she had a plan and she was going to transmit a message. He had to be prepared to translate whatever code she used. It turned out he didn’t need to.

Evelyn knew that having his daughter’s life at stake, would be the only way he would give into Aamon’s demands. But, if she has the chance to speak to him first, she knows exactly what she needs to say to convince Hamish, stay with the mission, save Gwendolyn, even if it means that she, herself has to die.  It would be the words that he would say to her if their positions were reversed.  They are committed to each other in the same way that they are committed to their training. Both of them were always aware that their work came withs risks and a situation like this was always a possibility. What allowed them to live a relatively secure life emotionally, was to be prepared and never let yourself suffer over something that hasn’t happened.

Evelyn would rather die on her own terms than to be used as ransom by a coward who would never experience a moments remorse. If it was only her and she knew she had no chance, she would use the entirety of her skills knowledge and expertise to take out Aamon along with her. But now, as she found herself in this exact scenario, she gave all of her effort, all of her skill, all of her expertise, not to get out alive, not to kill Aamon, but to make sure her daughter had the chance to live.

Evelyn let as much time as they needed to slip by. Aamon set her place in front of the camera. She is demanded that she beg Hamish to cancel the airstrike and save his family. She agrees. The video went live.

When she saw her husband, she spoke his name and she knew that he could hear her. This was her only chance. Their only chance.

“Hamish.”

“Evie.”

She spoke clearly and firmly and with absolute certainty.

“Emotion has no place in this scenario. Remember your training … And remember I love you.”

Hamish saw Aamon strike Evelyn. She fell out of frame. He knew Evelyn’s message to him was that she understands what he has to do. And that it’s ok. She knows she has die to give a chance for them to save Gwendolyn. She knows the mission has to happen for that’s the only way Hamish can signal the extraction team.

Hamish, with anguish that he doesn’t show in his face, but he feels in the depth of his heart, does not give confirmation and lets the program enter fail safe mode. He heard the gunshot that killed his wife just as he sent out the signal to his men to extract his daughter and get to safety before the strike.

Shots are heard in the feed. They lose video. But he can still hear the rescue team rushing the room. It’s chaos. He hears Gwendolyn crying for her mother. Hamish closes his eyes. He feels his heartbreak for his wife. At the same time, his knees weaken with relief. His daughter is still alive. He cues the rescue team to extract  Gwendolyn and clear out. It’s affirmative. Aamon realizes that he’s been thwarted again and that Evelyn lied to save her daughter. Fighting is heard as Aamon curses a lifetime of suffering upon Hamish before the audio cuts out.

—-

Gwendolyn stopped to take another swallow of her drink. Her eyes, though they were dry the entire time, were glassy with unshed tears.

She thought, I cried a lifetime of tears when I was six. I don’t have any left.

The two men were still rendered speechless. She witnessed their sorrow. For her yes, but also for the Merlin that they never knew. They felt sorrow for the pain their friend had experienced long before they had met him.

She wished her story was done. But when God handed her this tragedy, he gave with both hands.

“My father was never the same. He was a different man. Losing my mother in the way that he did. After losing my brothers, broke him in a way that he was never able to recover from.

“They never found proof of death for Aamon. I think that was a huge part of why it was so hard for him. They never found evidence that he was still alive, but that wasn’t good enough for my father. Aamon was a cluster B psychopath. As long as he was MIA, and that if he ever found out I was still alive, he would likely seek revenge and my life would always be at risk.”

“My father knew that the only way he could live was to know that I was safe. He could not face another loss. He retired from the agency, but he could not risk even the possibility that his last child be used against him. They offered protection, but he knew if they had been compromised once, it could happen again. It was never going to be the same. He was willing to live a life without me, as long as he knew I would always be safe. And I would never be safe unless he had Aamon’s proof of death. But they never found him.”

“I was six when I was sent away. Let’s say to the safe house that houses all safe houses. This was why he joined Kingsman. Part of the conditions of his employment was that I be taken to a secure location and provided for the rest of my life. I was to have zero contact. He was to have zero contact. Kingsman wiped my old life and gave me a new one. That was one of my toughest challenges meeting you. I had absolutely no proof that Hamish was my father. All of it had been destroyed and replaced by a completely new identity,

“He was forced to say goodbye to the last person he loved. As was I. With Kingsman’s assistance they faked my death, creating not only documentation, but physical evidence from DNA samples to dental records confirming that I also died in the airstrike.”

“I was sent away to Kingsman Safe Head Quarters. He could never have contact with me again. But if that was the price to ensure my safety then he would pay that price.  After my safety and future was ensured through Kingsman, he joined the London HQ in their research and development department. There, my father began his new life as Merlin, alone and unattached and determined to stay that way.”

“Ironically, I’ve been Kingsman almost as long as you have, Harry. In a sense, I was groomed to become Kingsman as well, but I suppose i was a bit too difficult to conform sometimes.”

“This is the Kingsman you only know about if you’re part of it. And you don’t want to be a part of it if you don’t have to. Because to be a part of it means that you’ve suffered terrible personal tragedy and your life is at risk. Their location is never disclosed, it changes periodically, everything is designed to stay, well, secret. If you have the opportunity to leave and decide to leave permanently, you never go back. You couldn’t go back if you wanted to. It’s kind of like the Kingsman version of a witness protection program. Mostly relatives of agents who are at risk, occasionally agents themselves whose lives are threatened. Someone whose death they had to fake, like me.“

“Incidentally KSHQ is also an independent international intelligence agency. Operating simultaneously as your Kingsman, but, let’s say, in a parallel universe with less stringent policies. We take care of many missions that Kingsman cannot not be associated with, for one reason or another. We were like Kingsman Black Ops.”

“We had very similar training, though. We all have the option, to go though the Kingsman recruitment process once we are old enough. If we are accepted we then begin trainIng as an agent. I started the pre-training when I was ten.  I started computer and technology, even sooner, so when I was around eight. Because of my father. I found out later that my skills mirrored his. I never reached his level of expertise though.”

“I would have started sooner if I were able. They discovered I had an aptitude for it and I kind of became a project for the trainers, to see how much they could teach and how much I could learn.

To an outsider, it would seem to be an interesting childhood, a rather odd way to grow up. But my childhood to that point couldn’t be described as traditional. Because I was raised around intelligence, from the moment of birth, there were many things that I understood on an instinctual level. Just as one learns how to speak by listening, observing and mimicking their parents, from the time I was born, I was also learning, perhaps subconsciously the lifestyle, the skill sets, the tactics, the mentality, of an intelligence agent.”

“My parents never hid what they did from us. They never spoke in secret. They were very open with us and wanted us to understand that our life had a set of rules that were different than others. They talked to us about death, that there was evil in the world, and that is was their job to protect families like ours, from all the bad things that people could do to each other. By the time I could walk and talk, I had protocol I was supposed to follow. We had escape plans. We were raised with survival skills. I was taught how to take cover.”

“But I wasn’t taught fear, I wasn’t taught to be scared. I was taught that fear was just an emotion, and that if I didn’t want to be scared I didn’t have to be. That if I felt scared or afraid, I could do something that helped me feel in control. I was told I was never helpless. That my feelings didn’t control me, that I could control my feelings. A pretty esoteric concept for a five year old. I’m sure I listened to them, but I never really understood what they meant until I was older. When I found myself automatically doing the things they taught us.”

“I think I was never afraid for my parents because they were never afraid for themselves or each other. The only times I was really afraid was when my brothers were killed, and we were kidnapped. My parents had taught us what to do in case we were kidnapped, what we could do to keep ourselves safe, things we could do to try to escape. They always knew it was a possibility.  They never hid the risks, but they never let the risks frighten us. When I was with my mother, all I was waiting for was her to tell me how we were going to escape, because I knew she could. I know now that she could, if she had been alone. I know now that she was trying to keep me safe.”

“And when my mother was killed. I was afraid then. I knew that something bad was going to happen, when my mother told me “be brave, little one.”  It was almost like a code. The only times I knew I was supposed to be brave was when something bad was going to happen. If I was told to be brave, it meant that I was supposed to get down, and find a place to hide, that I had to protect myself because they wouldn’t be able to.”

Gwendolyn’s tone had become thoughtful, reflective. “I saw her get shot. I saw my brothers get shot. It was very strange the way I understood death at that time. I wasn’t sad for them. It wasn’t the concept of death and dying that upset me. What upset me was that they were killed. I knew that it wasn’t fair. I knew that it wasn’t a way people should have to die. And then I knew what my parents meant, when they told me that there was bad in the world and that they were fighting to keep bad things from happening to good people. I was able to accept that she had been killed, trying to protect people, to protect me from this bad man. Murder is a hard lesson for a five year old.”

“The other part that was hard. When my father sent me away. My mother dying, no matter how traumatic it was when it happened. I was able to understand it. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but I knew why it did. I had a very black and white concept of good and bad and why people did what they did. My mother was gone. She died because she was a good person fighting against a bad person. Bad people killed my brothers. But five year old me did not understand why I was being sent away, by my father. I didn’t understand all the ramifications of what had happened. Not until after, did I know that my life was at risk, as was my fathers. That Aamon’s death was never confirmed. I didn’t know what a psychopath was. I didn’t know what revenge was. I just knew I was being sent away and that I had done nothing bad. I think that was the hardest.”

Harry was intrigued by her story, sorrowful for his old friend, and for this woman as a young child who was his old friend’s daughter. But also fascinated to hear the details of how her five year old mind had to wrap itself around mortality, and all the ways that life and death influenced how people live. The psychological effects of her experience must have been traumatic, but she seemed comfortable and matter of fact discussing what happened and what she had felt.

“Kingsman saw that I was different from the other children they had there at the time. They knew what I had been through and why I was there. They gave me a lot of psychological tests, making sure I didn’t have PTSD, or if I was holding trauma. They said I was surprisingly rational for a five year old. I was very sad about my mother and my brothers, but I was extremely upset at my father, because I could find no reasonable explanation why he sent me away. And that I could never see or talk to him ever again. Like he was dead. Apparently I kept on insisting that he wasn’t dead, and I wasn’t dead, so why did we have to act like it when, actually being dead, was a very sad thing. I couldn’t understand why someone would purposefully put themselves in this situation. I fought against it for a long time, until it just became another thing that was the way it was. And I could do nothing about it.

“When they found out how much of the ideology was already ingrained in me, they altered my course work “my schooling” to include more intelligence aptitude tests, problem solving skills, spacial relationships, critical thinking. It was designed to keep me interested. You can’t put a stack of books in front of a child and expect them to sit down and study. But they would give me puzzles and games, mazes, a set of tools to take something apart, or give me a toy that I had to figure out what it did and how it worked. They gave me things to take apart, and put together.”

“They showed me a gun. They didn’t know my parents had already taught us about firearms and to respect them.  I had never shot a live one myself, but I knew how they worked. My parents took us to the shooting range so we were comfortable with the noise. To see other adults using them responsibly. We knew how to load and unload, we knew how to aim. I was too small at the time, but by the time Kingsman introduced me to firearms, you can imagine their surprise when I took their gun and did just what my parents taught me.”

“First check the weapon to see if it’s live. If there is a bullet in the chamber, disarm it. Release the clip or magazine, check and see if it’s loaded. Load the bullets. Lock the clip back into place. Never put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. We were at the Kingsman shooting range. They didn’t stop me, so apparently, I just kept going, doing what I saw my parents and all the agents my parents worked with. It helped that is was a very small caliber gun, not much more than a BB gun. I took a shooting stance. I knew about aim, the sights on the gun, the recoil. I saw the target, I raised the gun, aligned the sites. Placed my finger on the trigger, focused on the front site and with as much control as my little hand had at the time, pulled the trigger straight back. I was about an inch off the target. They were surprised.”

While sipping the remaining scotch, she told the remainder of her story.

——

After her initial introduction to Kingsman, she began her ballistics and tactical training, hand to hand combat, martial arts. But she was also placed into technical training as well. When they saw she had the same inclinations as her father, she was placed in R and D, computer and strategic planning. Part of all Kingsman training for female agents included finishing school, how to be a proper lady, the art of seduction and espionage.  Which included neurolinguistic programming, how to be a skilled conversationalist, how to dress, how to carry one’s self, poise and posture and even dance.

Was it lonely, she thought. She didn’t feel particularly lonely, but she was most certainly alone. She was already familiar with the psychological and mental training for agents. To be removed from situations, to separate yourself from emotions and feelings when in the field. She never made any close friends during her time at Kingsman. She had pleasant acquaintances, mentors and trainers that she respected. But whether it be a conscious choice, she remained emotionally unattached. Mostly, she threw herself into her training. Learning and experiencing as much as she could.

With her technical skills, in her down time, she taught herself how to hack the Kingsman’s mainframe. Once she had access, when she wasn’t training, she was exploring the entire Kingsman world through its technology. Unknowingly to everyone, she became an expert in Kingsmans’ computer system. It also gave her access to all of Kingsman’s history, its agents and missions. And her father. Through exploring their data, she was able to trace the London network, breach their three tier security protocol, and access the system drive. Once in, she had a gateway to everything. Communications, transmissions, data, permission to view all of their files, mission plans, strategy. And best of all, authorisation to their closed caption security systems and the com feeds of every agent and handler. And so she spied on her father and spied on the spies.

What allowed her to survive her teen years at Kingsman was being able to access the London network and follow her father. It was almost as if she was with him. Even better in some ways, because not only was she able to see him and hear him through the comms, she was able to see in to his mind by following his programming strategy. She saw how he thought, how he solved problems, his speed and accuracy. His ingenuity developing new tools and weapons. Which she then, in turn, began to mimic.  When she knew he was on a mission, she would follow along, and to her pure delight, on certain occasions, she was able to, unbeknownst to her father, assist him with his plans. It could range from anything like taking down the city’s electric grid when she knew he needed it shut down. Cleaning up his trail if he didn’t have time as he went along on a time sensitive mission. To actually coding along side him in real time. As if there was someone helping him fill in the letters of a crossword puzzle, he would find some of his code already completed. She knew even this contact was dangerous, but she also knew that both she and her father would be able to keep their trails clean.

It pained her that she can never reveal her identity.  But on a few of the occasions, after she’s assisted him with a mission, she watched him sit back with a curious and thoughtful look on his face. Like he was tempted to do something, but knew he must not. It was risky for her to access his network, but it was but beyond dangerous for him to access hers. That would have opened up a traceable connection that could possibly compromise her position. So he can never know for sure, lest he put her in danger, but suspected that it was and it gave him comfort and pride to know she was out there somewhere and that at least they could have this contact.

She had followed their last two missions closely. She witnessed Eggsy’s recruitment and training. Harry’s death and recovery. She had to admit that she followed Harry Hart more frequently than she should have. Mostly she told herself, because he was the person that her father was the closest with and she wanted to know more about the man her father befriended.

When her father had died and the threat of leveraging her life was over, she was free to live as she chose. She could remain at the Kingsman Safe HQ, either just as a resident or to work as an agent. If she chose to, she can travel, or live anywhere she wants to. Part of the contract that Hamish had with Kingsman was that she be taken care of the rest of her life. She has a fund that provides much more than she needs even if she chooses not to work. The only caveat, if she chooses to leave the safe quarters, she can never return. If she wants to contact another Kingsman agency, she has to do so on her own. She will be offered no support other than financial.

After spending some time traveling, she decided that she wants to go to London and take her father’s place.  Since she can never return to the SHQ, the only people she really knows are Eggsy and Harry, though they don’t know who she is, and she has never met them in person. She had to find a way to meet them and let her join the team. The problem? She no longer had Kingsman’s resources. And after the events of the Golden Circle, London had intensified their security, had tightened their ranks and were wary of unknown individuals.

Swallowing the last of her drink, she concluded her story.

“With my father gone and Kingsman and its mainframe rebuilt after the bombing, I had no doorway into the new computer system, even if I was able to somehow get network access.”

She was finally showing signs of fatigue.

“The only way I could meet you,” she looked at Harry, “was in person.”

Notes:

Thanks for reading!  Look for more chapters. Comments are always more than appreciated :)