It was an impossible one, Nightingale told herself. The twenty-eight year old hacker groaned, throwing her hands up into the air before letting them fall over her eyes, a weak attempt to block out the blinding lights of the control center of the newly rebuilt Kingsman HQ. Between trying to sync up all her systems, including the Excellior AI that ran her laptop and the software that linked the AI of her robots with that same portable computer, with the systems there at the intelligence agency and trying to get through the odd training they were forcing her to go through just so she could be called a Kingsman agent, not that she wanted to be called anything but by the codename she'd had since the day her father died but they needed agents, she was exhausted. But more over it was neither the intelligence work, which she loved, nor the physical training, which she admittedly enjoyed as well, that had her in such a bind, making her mind reel; rather it was in some ways manifestations of both.
Her ear caught the sound of the door opening and a smooth, familiar Scottish brogue sounded. "Lassie, this is not the place to sleep."
She cracked her fingers just a bit, giving the man a look. He looked stern, a frown set upon his face as he held his arms crossed over his chest and seemed to be watching her; a calculating sort of look in his eyes. Nightingale couldn't help but think how this man, this Merlin, seemed to always be trying to seem so serious though a part of her knew better. There was a twitch, almost imperceptible if to any other eyes than hers, so well attuned as they were to the gathering of information; it's what she did, it's what she loved. The movement told her of a smile though, just tugging at the end of his mouth, and she wondered why it was such a stupid little thing could make her happy inside. It wasn't like it was an actual smile; Merlin walked over and she closed her eyes, letting out a long exaggerated sigh. "I'm not sleeping, I'm just resting my eyes for a few hours."
"That's called sleeping, Nightingale." Hell even her name somehow made her want to smile hearing it from him; maybe it was the accent. God knew accents had a horrible effect on people and she supposed she was, for all her genius and skill, still a person deep down. So was he, she was certain, under all the seriousness and coldness; she remembered the twitch of his mouth, the fact that she was in his control room, his area, even his chair, but moments passed and he hadn't tried to make her move. Rather instead she felt a shiver draw down her spine as fingers touched her skin, her exposed throat, but rather than to grab or hurt, they brushed lightly as they pulled back strands of her long black hair away, tucking it behind one ear. It was the gentleness in the thing, the odd sort of sense of not annoyance but resolution that left the woman thinking that no, he certainly had to be human under all of it. She opened her eyes and lifted her hands to look him straight in the eye. And he still looked stern but there it was, the tiniest of smiles.
It faded almost the moment she looked at him and he moved to take the other seat, right beside her in front of the monitors. He turned from her to face them, hands moving to the buttons and levels and keys that controlled the surveillance equipment watching over the main HQ and the other smaller Kingsman stores, rebuilt anew with the help of Statesman and reinforced with new technology, new security, new everything. But still so vulnerable; Nightingale knew that all too well. After all wasn't she here because she could still hack into the systems, because she still knew how to get into them with ease, because she had proven that for all their attempts, there were still people like her who could show them how weak they truly were. She'd done it but in a moment of her own weakness gotten caught, by the very man who now sat beside her, the one who had pulled back her hair with such a light sort of smile. It was frustrating to say the least but the fact that the agents they had sent to grab her hadn't killed her was a welcome change.
But again Kingsman needed agents; Poppy, that mad woman, purveyor of drugs, all-around terrible sociopath, she'd killed so many of them. Percival, Arthur, Lancelot; she had been chosen to take up the mantle of Gawain, an interesting decision in her opinion.
"It's a joke isn't it?" she had said after they had told her and she said again now, speaking out loud as she thought about it to herself.
"Being a Kingsman agent is no joke, child," Merlin said for what was likely the hundredth time; he was older to her, she knew he was and it felt like he was always reminding her of it. Or someone was; despite being older than Eggsy, she got the feeling that many of them thought of her as much more of the child. Admittedly she was small for her age and she did have a bit of a baby face. It also didn't help that Merlin was a good foot taller than her and it certainly didn't make her feel better or happy in the end to hear it.
"The Maiden's Knight though," she murmured, the usual sort of discontentment that always followed the reminders.
He didn't answer at first; she wasn't too sure she really wanted or needed him to. She reached out to type away at her laptop, currently settled on the control panel on a less used side. The usual things popped up, warning, alerts, messages from Excellior telling her was happening and why and what she had to do or could do now. Of course the AI was only able to do so much, advanced as he was; she still did much of the work, keeping all the protocols and necessary software working so she could get into whatever system she needed to when she needed to.
"I personally think it would rather suit you," he mused aloud, a nonchalant sort of statement that made her stop for a moment to look to him; his attention was elsewhere, on the monitors as he kept an eye out for the trainees and of course the Statesman agents as well as other two remaining "senior" Kingsman agents. Merlin's eyes didn't even move from the screens as he spoke, continuing his work, "A noble and loyal knight, protector of those who might otherwise not be capable of protecting themselves. Was that not why you decided to take up the Nightingale name, Tsuki?"
The young woman blushed as he said her name, not the one she choose to take but the one she was given. He glanced over and the technical wizard's eyes met that of the young hacker's; silence fell, just a momentary lapse of action for both of them. Then he seemed to move, about to do or say something before again the door opened.
This time it was a younger man who rushed in, followed soon enough by a woman with short hair and dark skin and an older gentleman. The first stared with wide eyes, eyes that once were innocent, it was clear in the edges, tinges of an young soul still searching for his place; still he dressed like a gentleman, a Kingsman, and once inside his somewhat relaxed body stiffen to a more rigid stance. The second stumbled in soon after, looking far less like a lost puppy in glasses and a suit but more like a confused sort of cat; she barely tried to adjust herself though she cleared her throat and waved with a slight smile at Nightingale and Merlin, causing Nightingale to wave in return.
The third did not stiffen nor did he look like a puppy or cat; the young hacker couldn't help but find her eyes move to him and think how natural he looked. She knew about the incident with Valentine, the loss of memory, the fact that he was still coming back into himself after a year lost in his own mind, but still, to her, none of them save for Merlin looked anywhere as much of a gentlemen, the image of the Kingsman agent, than Harry Hart. He walked with purpose and she noticed the way he stopped as he saw her, staring back at her, and his expression, neutral as it tried to be, seemed to change to something impossible to understand immediately. She supposed it was because she had been, always would be, the hacker Nightingale, a thorn in Kingsman's side, not strictly an enemy but never truly a friend. That she was there now as a comrade, to become another agent alongside him and Merlin and young Eggsy, that she could be there as an ally, that had to be strange to him especially now. But she couldn't bring herself to be upset by such a thing.
He cleared his own throat and adjusted the umbrella on his arm, turning his gaze away from Tsuki. "Merlin, it's time for Nightingale's combat training; if she is to be confirmed as Gawain we will need to make sure she is up to Kingsman standards."
"I am certain I am," she responded before the technical wizard could, turning around in her chair, "Though I suppose some practice wouldn't hurt. Is Eggsy and Ginger….Agent Whiskey going to join us as well?"
"Nuh I had something to talk to Merlin about actually," spoke Eggsy the young man looking from his mentor over to Merlin himself; Nightingale raised an eyebrow but shrugged it off. With no current Arthur, Merlin was the de-factor leader for the most part, him and Harry to tell the truth; Eggsy had skills and ultimately the group seemed happy to listen to Champ from Statesman but within Kingsman itself, with it's ranks slowly growing again, the two older men were the ones deferred to. Wanting to talk to Merlin about something surprised her far less than the mere fact she was there.
She turned to the agent once known as Ginger Ale, now Whiskey, who continued to smile; it seemed to have grown some and she shook her head. "I just finished a rather rigorous training regiment myself; I'm looking forward to getting some rest, maybe hang out here for a bit."
"Go on then, Nightingale," Merlin said and turned back to the monitors without another look at the young woman, "The sychronization should be done by the time you get back and I'm certain you and our elder Galahad will be able to give each other a good workout."
She blushed; she could not help it. It was stupid and childish and she was certain no one would really understand why but she couldn't stop her face from flushing and she got up, standing a little too stiff, grabbing the handle of her katana as she lifted it from it's spot against the table. The feel of it in her hand made her feel more grounded, let her focus on something far different than her own awkwardness and she nodded, watching as Harry turned to walk out the room and she followed quickly after. Eggsy looked to Whiskey and the Statesman turned to Merlin; the man said nothing, continuing to watch monitors with the same stern sort of look. They didn't notice his hands grip one of the knobs just a bit too tight.
Part of Nightingale expected to be brought back above ground; outside of the fact that from what she could gather from surveillance it was a nice day outside, the sun out for once in London and without a cloud in the sky, she also figured the older Galahad would feel the same. Being inside could be stiffling; she was used to it to a degree but when stressed, when nervous, when in a situation that made her head start to spin, she had always found her claustrophobia acting up. She did her best deadline work on the roof of Nevermore after all, an area she had set up with enough protective measures to keep other eyes from seeing her while still allowing her the freedom to smell the fresh air, to know she wasn't being confined, to feel free. And she knew about his time at Statesman, in that confined room full of butterfly pictures; maybe he wasn't tramatized by that time, maybe he wasn't even bothered by it, but Nightingale couldn't help but think that even just subconsciously he would prefer to do the training out in a spacious area where they could move and breathe. And right now she really wished she could breathe.
Instead they were inside, standing in what felt to her to be a tiny room but that her brain told her was at least a few hundred meters in all directions, far more than enough room for them to be able to manevuer easily. A primarily flat area, the ground was made somewhat soft by cushioning, no doubt to allow some protection for the agents as they would tussle and spar and generally try to kill each other to ensure those going out into the field were as ready as possible; the walls were white and normally speaking that would have made it seem even more spacious than it actually was but in the end the problem wasn't the floor or the sizing or the color of the walls. The biggest thing making her feel her fear of small spaces curling around her mind tightly was that ultimately, it was only them in there.
It was ridiculous and she was well aware of this. Two people in such a large space should be perfectly fine but it was hard for Nightingale to feel comfortable with Harry Hart standing in front of her, holding his umbrella like a walking stick and saying something she didn't really understand because blood was rushing through her ears and all she was really able to do at the moment was stare back at him. He said her name, rather the name she used, and she shook her head after a moment, trying to concentrate.
"Sorry could you repeat that?" she said and he sighed softly, a disappointed sort of sound that didn't do anything to make her feel better.
"I asked if you would prefer to practice using weapons or if we shall work on hand-to-hand combat instead," Harry said and frowned a bit; she was embarrassed to think she might have annoyed him with her inattentiveness but somehow she didn't get the feeling that it was an annoyed sort of frown. Maybe a little disappointed and that certainly made it far worse; she hated disappointing the goodhearted Harry as much as she hated thinking she annoyed him.
"I'm sorry," she said again, causing him to shake his head.
"If you listen the first time, then you will not need to apologize later," he chided sternly and raised his umbrella, making her straighten up. She knew what that was, and she had at least a basic idea of what it could do; her hand gripped her sword tighter and he seemed to notice, his frown turning to a light sort of smile.
Before she could anything else, or say anything, he struck, a quick calculated move at her left; she carried her sword with that hand so she could do little more than try to block as he used his umbrella in a similar way as she normally would her katana. It was a smart move and done fast enough to make it harder for her to counter but counter she did, jumping back as the umbrella hit the sheath and drawing the blade. The light hit it and it seemed to shimmer, causing a glint in his one eye. Though maybe that was something else entirely.
Nightingale was not disappointed by Harry but she also didn't expect to be; he was Kingsman after all, even after his last year, and he was one of the best at that. She was a trained swordsman, a master of the blade, and as it stood, because of her job and her brother RJ's worries, she was also not bad as a martial artist; capoera was the one she had gotten the most use out of, finding the combination of the dance like movements with her preferred weapon making for a dangerous and graceful combination. As he tried to strike again she moved smoothly, not only sidestepping the older man as he tried to sweep out her feet but then leaping over him, grabbing hold of his tie and pulling. She was not strong, and she did not think that she normally could possibly do anything to the man, but she was smart; using the momentum of her own move, and from his attempt to make her fall, she managed to throw him, sending him flying if not for only a few seconds. It was amazing how quickly he righted himself and they were at it again soon enough; she tried to use her sword against him, swinging it at the man and he opened his umbrella to use as a shield, making her click her tongue. The blade hit the armored fabric and she could practically see the smile on his face; thinking about it made her happy, to think she could do something to make him smile.
It didn't even bother her as she realized that he would likely try to utilize more of the umbrella's tricks; she jumped back again and closed her eyes for a moment, holding up her sword in a defensive position. She listened, she waited; Harry paused for a moment and let down his guard for a second, lowering at the same time his weapon and looking over at her from the top of it. He raised an eyebrow then pressed the button: stun, let's see what that would do.
She moved faster than he expected; the dart shot out and upon getting close to her, her sword moved, deflecting and sending it instead flying into the nearest wall. All with her eyes still closed; he blinked, standing up straight again. A smile returned quickly enough though and he switched focuses; he furled the umbrella again and went at her once more. She struck again, seeming to almost sense the moment, and they danced. That was by far the best way to describe it; he moved, he struck, he swung and iced and spun and she matched even move. Her eyes opened, he pushed her to put all she had into not being thrown off; she wondered if this was how the bad guys felt fighting him, those people who saw the gentleman, the suit, the one eyed man with the soft face and kind smile, only to find out just how dangerous he truly was.
It was by these thoughts distracting her that caused her to be grabbed by the older man and thrown to the ground, her sword sent flying away from her. She let out a small pained noise as she hit the floor, padded or not, and winced some. She looked up to see Harry towering over her, he always towered over her; admittedly he was a good foot taller than her without her laying on her back but it still felt like more than that, especially when she so handily lost. She winced and closed her eyes, feeling embarrassed more; she had been beaten. No, more than that, she'd let her mind wander too much and let herself be caught like she was; not very Kingsman like certainly. Maybe Eggsy but Nightingale was certain of all people Harry wasn't the type to let anything distract him; how embarrassing.
It made it worse when he held out hand to her, giving a weak sort of smile as he offered to help her up. She was half tempted to not take it, say she was fine, but her body did ache some and she wasn't too sure how easily she would be able to stand on her own immediately. So she took it, her hand clasping tight to his as he pulled her up to her feet with what she was sure was ease; she fell into him, leaning against him with her face in his chest and her blush grew, Nightingale stumbled back, pulled her hand away from his and looked down, at their feet, his nice Oxfords, so neat and tidy, her beaten up sneakers in comparison, old but comfortable.
The apology she wanted to say lingered on her lips but she didn't get a chance; Harry spoke first, cutting her short. "Very good; you handled yourself very well up to the end. It is not often I am put into a position that I have to actually put effort forth while fighting a recruit; you are obviously well-trained and your skill with your sword is quite impressive. I'd say you definitely need work on your focus; when in a fight, as you must be aware, you cannot allow yourself to be distracted. It can be the difference between life or death for you and for others."
"I understand, Galahad," she spoke softly, still not entirely certain about looking at him.
"Good. Now," he said and straightened up, adjusting his suit and tie carefully, "We should go onto armed combat. More specifically I think it's about time you do some weapons training with something other than your sword," that got her attention and Nightingale looked up at him with wide eyes, feeling a sort of dread growing in her chest over what it might meant.
"I'm not so sure about that," she said and resisted the urge to scramble to find her sword, to feel it's handle in her hand again; the blood was rushing in her ears again, she didn't want this.
"Unfortunately I will have to insist," Harry told her and looked at his watch for a moment, fiddling with it before turning back to look at her, "According to your results, you've managed to go quite well in multiple areas but it seems you have purposefully been avoiding training with any guns of any type. It is admirable of you to wish to stick to a more traditional weapon such as your katana but still, you need to have proficiency in firearms to really be able to be counted as a Kingsman agent."
"I was under the impression my becoming Gawain was as good as decided," she half-muttered really not wanting to do this.
"There are many recruits for many positions and while you are one of the bests, your apparent lack of experience using a gun is a notable blemish," he said then smiled lightly, approaching her and placing one hand on her shoulder, "Do not worry; I'll train you, we'll get you up to the same level as Eggsy and Merlin and I in no time."
He pulled out a gun and Nightingale's immediate response, her guttal response, was to pull away as fast and as hard as possible. She fell to the ground, panic filling her at the mere sight of the weapon, and the bad memories flooded back; her sword wasn't nearby, it was just them, and Harry looked more than a little surprised as she stared at the weapon in his hand with pure and utter terror in her eyes. She wanted to scream but what came out was a choked "No". She did not like this, she did not like letting him see her so weak, anyone see her fear. But she hated guns and she did not want to touch them; they reminded her too much of the night her parents died, the night she lost almost everything.
"Nightingale?" Harry spoke, a soft and worried sort of thing; he put the piece away and approached her again, leaning down to her, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you; it's okay though."
"No," she said again and half-whimpered, feeling hot tears stinging at her eyes, "I don't want to touch that thing, I don't want to use them, I just want my sword. Please….Harry…."
The pitiful pleading of her voice seemed to change his expression and she wasn't sure what it was; it looked like pain and it made her feel bad, worse because it was likely more disappointment. Disappointment that she was so weak, that she wouldn't even consider trying to use the firearm, that she was so useless; a knight could get along with a sword but a Kingsman had to be able to use whatever weapon possible to get their mission done. She really was nothing more than a mere hacker, not an agent or even a potential one, just a coward. But every cell in her body rejected it; it was one thing for those around her to use them but for her to, to touch one, it invited the bad memories and she instinctively rejected that.
Despite feeling it only made manners worse Nightingale couldn't help but cry, sniffling as she curled up her legs to her chest and buried her face in her knees. And she apologized, because what else could she do?
But she didn't expect him to hug her. Honestly she didn't expect anything other than the man to walk away from the mess of a woman, give up and find someone more worthy of his time; especially after everything he'd gone through she expected him to not want to waste time on her. But he didn't do anything of the sort; instead the young woman felt two arms wrap around her and pull her close, could practically hear his heart beat with her head once more against his chest.
"I didn't realize that it would cause you so much agony; I'm the one who should be apologizing to you," Harry's gentle voice spoke and she froze up in his arms, "That was insensitive of me to simply pull out a gun and expect you to respond well to it. I promise I did not mean to scare you and I was completely unaware of how strongly you felt about guns."
"Harry," she said and he loosened his hold on her, allowing her to tilt her head to look up at his face; he looked so conflicted but she realized it wasn't disappointment there but his own pain. He was hurt by how she'd reacted, not because of his feelings but because of her own. She felt touched, more than simply touched; her cheeks heated up again and her heart sped up. Why did he have to be so nice? Why did he have to actually care about how she felt? It just wasn't fair.
"We'll have to adjust the training then to accommodate your special situation." The familiarly gruff voice of Merlin sounding off took both off guard and they pulled apart almost immediately, spooked. Nightingale looked around, trying to find the source before remembering; Merlin had almost every room of the headquarters wired, of course he could speak to them like this.
Still there was a kernel of happiness that grew in her chest when he spoke and she looked to Harry, finding the man looking rather sheepish for the moment.
"That would seem to be the wisest course of action," the elder Galahad said and looked at her as well before giving a small weak smile.
"Y-you don't have to," she said and tried to force herself to go over to him, to reach for the gun, "I can…"
Harry stopped her, his hand closing around her wrist in a strong but gentle grasp; he shook his head. "Don't do that, do not force yourself; no good will come of pushing yourself to do something you are not comfortable doing."
"Galahad is right, Nightingale," Merlin spoke again and there was disapproval in his voice, "It would be preferable that you have the ability to use a firearm but we can't have you shooting your foot off or hurting someone else because you weren't emotionally ready to handle one. We'll simply have to work on making you psychologically ready to try to use a gun first."
She furrowed her brow; this all sounded ridiculous, too much effort for one broken girl. "There are others-"
"You are the one who will become the new Gawain," Harry said sharply and she couldn't help but turn to him as he spoke, seeing the serious look on his face; that was the face of a Kingsman agent, of Galahad, of the man who was the best of the agency had. Strong, capable, a true gentleman and a true spy. He once more pulled her up to her feet, much more insistent in this than when he had simply helped her up before.
"You are not broken," said Merlin and her heart lurched thinking he had read her mind even from a different room, "You are a brilliant individual with skills of great value to our organization, to us. Having you unable to use a gun, whether permanently or temporarily, is simply a minor detail; we can work around it. But don't devolve into a pity party; it's beneath you. Plus you're making Harry feel guilty for making a lady cry."
"I didn't mean to," Harry said with some protest and Nightingale couldn't help but smile just a little as the conversation turned to a strange sort of banter between the agent and what really amounted to a disembodied voice.
But to her, to her it was more two agents who really were making her feel better about her meltdown over the gun. And at the same time worse about herself, because between the kind and sweet if not at times very serious man with the one eye and the master fighting skills, and the often gruff and stern but highly skilled technological wizard who had such a nice smile and a good heart, she wasn't sure which one made her heart faster.
Nightingale was certain though that while falling for one was foolish, falling for both was just plain reckless.