Work Text:
It didn’t surprise him that the young man had ended up here. After all, where else would you go to punch the utter shit out of something if not the gym? And after his reaction to his own reappearance, Harry was rather glad that he’d found something other than his face to lay into, especially now he can see just how much of a beating it would have taken had there not been an alternative.
He’d changed out of his suit and into casual attire that better suited his physical outlet, although it seemed his shirt had been thrown carelessly aside, leaving him in just the loose black jogging bottoms and bare feet. Not that Harry minded; it afforded him an unrestricted view of his charge. Daily updates from the nurses in charge of the young man’s care could not compare to seeing his recovery personally, but right now he was satisfied with how things were progressing. The ribs were healing nicely - no longer strapped up, he saw - but if he didn’t stop punching soon he’d be suffering the consequences and he knew a few nurses that would scowl at him for letting him continue.
Curiously, it was the bruises that bothered Harry the most. They were healing nicely too but the fact they still lingered angered him. Black and blue had faded to a sickly yellow-green, painting pale skin with blooming colour; back, sides, ribs. The sudden spike of rage was extinguished quickly. He didn’t want to think about why it caused such a reaction in him.
The bag jolted with each hit, jerked back and sideways and back again as Eggsy jabbed and swung with wrapped hands. His face was a study in concentration and Harry could only imagine what he was seeing as each punch fell. His face was Harry’s first guess.
After a moment Eggsy stopped punching and leaned forward, steadying the bag and letting it take his weight as he caught his breath, sweaty forehead pressed to the vinyl, eyes closed.
“You gonna just stand there?”
So he’d been noticed. Harry moved from the doorway and further into the room, empty save for the two of them. “Are you finished beating the equipment to a pulp?”
“Nope.”
“Should I wait, then?”
“Nope.”
Harry heaved a soft sigh, “We need to talk about this.”
The young man moved then, stepped back from the now still bag and shrugged his shoulders like the situation was nothing, still not looking at Harry. “What’s to talk about?” He said, almost conversationally if you ignored the steely hint of rage in his tone, “You faked your own death and lied to me and didn’t fuckin’ tell me about it until five months later. Think that covers it, don’t you?”
The next hits slapped against the bag in a torrent of fury, his fists a white blur against the blue, and Harry allowed himself a second to appreciate the beauty in his violence before getting back to the matter at hand.
“If you keep going like that you’ll do further damage to your ribs.”
“They’re fine.” Eggsy grunted, but Harry could sense the lie in his words. Silly boy, he thought, moving to stand on the other side of the bag, reaching out to brace it with a roll of his eyes.
“Eggsy-”
But the other man was already moving away, backing up with a frustrated snarl, “Oh piss off, piss right off. Don’t pretend you give a shit. Don’t fuckin’ pretend like everything’s fine and dandy when you’ve spent the past however long doing a class impression of a dead person.”
Harry straightened and watched the boy stalk away from him angrily. Out of all the possible scenarios he’d imagined this conversation to go, this was actually the least bloody, but he hadn’t expected to feel the boy’s ire this strongly. It was never going to be easy, he’d known that from the beginning, and maybe a part of him had put this off for so long because he didn’t know how Eggsy would take it.
“This may be hard for you to believe,” he began, keeping his gaze firmly attached to the younger man, “But all I have done has been in your best interests.”
Eggsy looked at him for the first time since he left the Dining Room hours before and Harry found himself wishing he would stop. Anger he could deal with - he’d burn that off quickly - but the betrayal in those eyes made Harry’s stomach twist with something akin to guilt. That feeling was only made worse by the cracked, harsh sound that came from him that wasn’t even an echo of a laugh.
“Best interests?” He said, disbelief written clear across his face, “Are you shitting me right now? Harry, I watched you go mental and slaughter a room full of people because of what that bastard Valentine did, and then I had to sit there and watch as he put a gun to your fuckin’ head and shot you. Half way across the pissin’ world and you were gone. ‘Ow the fuck was that in my best interest?!”
He was breathing harder now than he was when he was pounding the punching bag, chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. Harry remembered all too well the scene he witnessed on the computer screen that day. It would be years before he could forgive himself that transgression, no matter how many times Merlin told him he wasn’t to blame. Control was something he held in high regard; to lose it so quickly and easily as he had done that day - helping hand or no - was unforgivable.
Seeing Eggsy before him, demanding explanations, demanding truths instead of lies, was something else he was going to have to live with.
“I’d known for some time that something wasn’t right with Chester.” He began, choosing his words carefully, “When I noticed the scar on his neck I knew that he’d been swayed by Valentine’s pretty speeches. What I didn’t know was how far deep the betrayal went within Kingsman ranks.”
The young man frowned, “What?”
He stared at Eggsy, “Chester had been the head of this service for nearly 20 years, and had been serving as a Kingsman for another decade before that. If someone with that much history can turn so willingly to the other side, then why not anyone else?”
When the words registered, Eggsy’s face melted from confusion to offence, “Wait, you thought I was-?”
“-No.” He knew where Eggsy was going and he needed to nip it in the bud before he built up a new head of steam, “No, not you. I wasn’t so much referring to the new candidates as to the other Knights at our table. I needed to be sure that Chester hadn’t poisoned the water, so to speak.”
“Ok, wait,” Eggsy held up his hand, “I don’t get this. You knew Arth-Chester was dirty. Why not kill him yourself?”
Harry took a breath, “Because then you wouldn’t have set yourself on the course to becoming a Kingsman Knight.” When Eggsy blinked at him Harry continued, “I told you I was going to sort things out.”
A noise, almost like laughter, bubbled out of Eggsy’s mouth as he stared at him in disbelief. “So you’re tellin’ me that you went and got yourself shot in the head so I could graduate?”
Harry considered that. “Not the way I would have put it, but for all intents and purposes, yes.”
“You’re a fucking prick.”
The insult was expected and ignored. Fine tremors ran through his arms, fists clenched at his sides like he was about to start swinging again, but Harry stood his ground.
“You dickhead. Do you have any idea what the hell you did?” Eggsy stepped closer, “Was I not trustworthy enough, is that it? Good enough to be your little soldier but not enough to fuckin’ tell me the plan.”
For the first time since he stepped into the gym, Harry started to lose his cool. “It wasn’t about trusting you,” he snapped, “It was about needing you to do what I couldn’t.”
“You wanna know what I couldn’t do, Harry?” He spat, moving closer still, fury burning in every line of his face, “I couldn’t go to your fuckin’ funeral. They buried you in the ground in some pissing graveyard and I couldn’t go because you weren’t supposed to be dead.”
Harry’s heart twisted in his chest, “I would have told you if I could. I’m truly sorry, Eggsy.”
“Save your poxy apologies!” He barked, “You left me. You died. And now you come swanning back in here like it’s nothin’, like it means nothin’ that we buried you and grieved for you.”
Harry expected the punch - had done since the moment he walked into the gym - but he didn’t move. In truth, the pain of bone against bone would be less of a hindrance than the pain he was currently experiencing in his chest. Turbulent emotions stormed those brown eyes and Harry hated the fact he’d helped to cause it. Letting the boy hit him to let off some steam wasn’t going to hurt nearly as much as looking into those eyes did. So when Eggsy reached out he didn’t move to block, expecting the hit to knock him back a few steps.
What he wasn’t expecting was fingers fisted tightly into the lapels of his jacket, or to be yanked forward as warm lips pressed tight against his own. He wasn’t expecting harsh breaths and the smell of sweat and the wall of heat that was Eggsy’s body pressed against him, holding on to him like he’d disappear if he let go. There was a second where all thoughts fled and Harry was left with an endless void in which all he could do was feel.
But when the void finally closed, Eggsy was already pulling back, looking up at him with a mixture of shock, pleasure, and embarrassment. Wide eyes, ringed by long curling eyelashes, stared at him in astonishment, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he’d done. If Harry were honest, he couldn’t quite believe it either. They were stuck in some strange tableau; his suit creased under Eggsy’s fingers, his own hands on bare arms, although he couldn’t quite be sure if his intention was to pull forward or push away.
“Shit.”
Yes. Harry knew that feeling.
“Shit,” the young man repeated, letting go and stumbling back with his hands already covering his face, “Fuck. I wasn’t… I didn’t mean…” He shook his head violently, looked up imploringly at Harry as he backed up rapidly, “Forget that happened, yeah? I gotta… I gotta go.”
“Wait-”
But he was already running through the door, leaving Harry to stare after him in bewilderment.
Shit, indeed.