Harry Hart is not particularly accustomed to post-mission cleanup. He's never had to be. Usually he waltzes onto the scene, beats the "bad guys" in spectacular fashion, and makes a swift exit, leaving the dirty work up to others. Yet while he waits for Statesman's plane to come in, bringing agents to evaluate the scene and collect the dead, he finds himself wishing for a task with which to occupy himself. Something other than listening to Elton John recount his tale of imprisonment.

"…Of course, that was just one of the many indignities I was made to suffer," the pop star is saying. Arms crossed over his gaudy feathered outfit, he stands tall as the hero he's unexpectedly become. "Don't get me started on that slop she called food. Most prisoners lose weight, but I must have gained more pounds the entire time I was here than…"

As much as he needs a distraction, Harry's mind drifts from Elton's verbal run-off. The glamor of meeting one of his favorite celebrities has worn off quickly; somehow it's one of the less exciting events of the day. Glancing to Eggsy, who's leaning against Poppy's Diner with a glazed expression, the urge stirs in Harry to check on him. Their side-by-side fight against Whiskey had been entirely a blur, and Harry wonders if Eggsy's head is spinning just as much as his, as he tries to process all that's happened. But Eggsy seems oblivious to his surroundings, gazing off at a fixed point in the distance.

Harry turns his head in the direction Eggsy's staring, looking beyond the bloody, mangled bodies of Poppy's guards, into the tall grass just outside the fortress. The spot draws his gaze like a magnet.

Merlin is out there.

Merlin is…

The word won't form in his head. Though it shouldn't be hard. Only a single syllable.

When the plane touches down, Ginger is the first to debark. At this point, her presence is no less surprising than Elton John's. She strides across the dusty ground, dwarfed by the buildings surrounding her, and yet instantly commanding attention. Her upright stance as she clutches her clipboard to her chest brings visions of Merlin to mind. An unpleasant twinge goes through Harry.

"Galahad," Ginger announces, and Harry snaps to attention alongside Eggsy. Ginger regards them with gentleness shining through her businesslike demeanor.

"You're free to go," she says quietly. "One of Statesman's agents will serve as your pilot for the return trip."

The words but why do we need another pilot almost spring to Harry's lips, before he catches himself. "Thank you, Ginger. We'll meet you back at headquarters."

Ginger nods, before extending an arm towards Elton John. "Elton, come along with me."

"Don't mind if I do." Elton takes Ginger's arm and grins at Harry over his shoulder. "I won't forget that request, love. Two tickets coming your way, as soon as the world's back on its feet." With that, he and Ginger depart.

Two tickets. A jolt of realization goes through Harry. He hadn't meant to ask for a pair. He hadn't been thinking straight… Who did he expect would go with him? Eggsy probably wouldn't. Merlin? No, Merlin said he liked John Denver better…

And Merlin won't be available now. Again Harry tries to wrap his head around the idea, to make himself believe it. Again, it doesn't take. All that's left is a suffocating void filling his chest, and an infectious melody in his ears.

Eggsy's up from his seat and rummaging through the minibar before the plane has a chance to reach cruising altitude.Silently Harry watches, only half-heartedly paying attention. The desire to speak with Eggsy remains strong, but his mind is utterly devoid of words.

"Come on!" Eggsy suddenly snaps, slamming the cupboard door. "Isn't there any fucking scotch on this plane?"

Clearing his throat, Harry says, "I hardly believe that Merlin would have let us take flight without any." He'd known that much about Merlin, at least. The man rarely displayed his pride for his heritage, but one thing he was absolutely fanatical about was his drink preference. The words sound lifeless, unpolished in Harry's mouth, befitting the swelling emptiness inside him. He should feel something- he knows he shouldfeel something- but he can't seem to conjure up any emotion.

"Whatever," Eggsy mutters. "This'll do." He grabs a bottle, seemingly at random, and begins to fill up two nearby glasses. He strides over and hands one to Harry, who numbly accepts it.

"Merlin said we couldn't let our emotions get in the way of a mission," Eggsy says. "Well, the mission's over now, innit, so I'm sure as shit going to let that go." Meeting Harry's eye, he raises his glass high. "To Merlin."

Eggsy's voice and gaze are steady, but the tight, pinched look around his eyes and the tremble of his lips are unmistakable. Harry knows that expression well. Eggsy's got "why the fuck did I have to go and set off that land mine" written all over him. It's the same expression Harry had seen in the mirror on the night he brought the Unwin family the news of their patriarch's death. At once, the glass in Harry's hand feels like it weighs down his entire body. In bringing Eggsy into Kingsman, he'd expected the young man to take after him, but he'd never dreamed that history would repeat itself this closely.

"To Merlin," Harry echoes. He downs Stateman's finest whiskey and leans back as Eggsy comes to sit beside him. Eggsy opens his mouth as if to speak, but it takes him a moment to get any words out and when he does, his voice is choked.

"It was my fault he died, Harry… I should have noticed the bloody thing…"

Seeing the inevitable guilt swell over Eggsy is more than Harry can stand. He lays his hand on Eggsy's back. "There was nothing you could have done, Eggsy. Merlin chose to take your place. He gave up his life in order to save you, and we should be grateful for that." A heavy feeling wells within him, because he knows these words so well. Echoes of what Merlin had once told Harry, so many years ago. It's different for him, now. Eggsy is still young, and feels every loss like an open wound. But Harry has had practice with compartmentalizing his emotions. Even before Kingsman, he'd made a habit of not growing too attached to his colleagues, lest they abandon him one day, turn on him, or get themselves killed right beside him.

And therein lies the problem…

Eggsy shakes his head and turns away, and Harry sighs. He knows just how difficult consolation can be, when one is so convinced of their flaws. The weight of Eggsy's guilt will stay with him for who knows how long. In Harry's case, it had never entirely vanished- which is the only reason Eggsy's sitting beside him today.

A booming baritone voice envelopes his inner ear, belting out a song with unbelievable zeal. If he allows himself to sink deeply enough into memory, he can see Merlin's warm hazel eyes gleaming through the bushes, wordlessly telling Harry that everything was going to be all right.

Merlin… Merlin is…

Merlin?

…I never even knew his real name.

Harry doesn't return home, because there's no home to which he can return. There wouldn't have been one to begin with, even without Poppy's intervention. Eggsy is eager to invite Harry to stay with him while he checks in on his mother and his mates, but Harry declines, not wanting to take advantage of Eggsy's hospitality. Besides, the anxious gleam in Eggsy's eyes suggests that he'd rather stop by Sweden first thing, to meet with his princess.

So Harry finds a hotel into which he can check himself, and begins the process of decompression. It's astonishing to imagine all that has happened in such a short timespan. It feels like just yesterday Eggsy was confronting him in a padded cell, forcing his memories back. And certainly, just a few days before that he was in that bloody church… To have been thrown from one crisis right smack into another one causes the room to spin around Harry. Closing his eye, he tries to get a grip by making a list and taking stock of the situation.

Harry's home is gone. Obliterated in a single missile strike. With it has gone his office, his suits, his records, his butterflies, even Mr. Pickle. All of his colleagues at Kingsman, with the possible exception of a few staff members, are gone. He's missing an eye, proper depth perception, and possibly a few chunks of his memory, should the hallucinatory butterflies make another appearance.

And Merlin is…

He's got Eggsy, thank god. Eggsy, and a whole host of Statesman agents. Amnesia had left them little time to make an impression on him, despite the long months Harry had apparently spent with them. He's got a puppy, of all things, though Eggsy is currently taking care of it. He's still got one eye. There's a roof over his head, for the time being, and though it's not the same as his home, Harry's grown used to small comforts during his work as an agent. He can live like this. He'll manage.

In his sleep, Harry finds himself taking out Poppy's guard all by himself, out of desire rather than necessity. A deep, powerful voice rolls through his ears, and he wakes up sweating.

Merlin. Merlin is in Harry's head, singing only to him.

Harry doesn't think of Merlin again until the day he's scheduled to be put into the ground. The funeral has shaped up to be a quiet affair- just Harry, and Eggsy, and a sister who's been tracked down seemingly out of the blue. If any other family members are available, neither Harry nor Eggsy can contact them. Apparently Merlin took his fondness for privacy to the extreme.

Harry's the first to arrive at the mortuary where Merlin's body is kept. He knows he can't be the only one who wants to say goodbye in private, nor does he consider his goodbye to be of particularly high importance. And yet, he'll be damned if anyone else beats him to it.

The room in which the casket's being held smells strongly of jasmine incense. Harry supposes it's best not to ponder too deeply what that scent is masking. Though it's probably not embalming fluid. There's a reason the casket is shut tight.

Taking a deep breath, Harry strides towards the room's pinewood centerpiece, stopping just a few centimeters short of it. He could reach out to touch it, if he wanted, but the thought makes his head spin. Almost like his recent dizzy spells, butterflies dancing in the corner of his vision.

"Merlin." The word is a gentle whisper, imbued with warmth. Harry pauses to collect his thoughts, sorting each word into an order that feels right, before speaking again. He's never been fully convinced of the existence of spirits, but if Merlin is listening from beyond pearly gates, Harry wants his declaration to ring with perfection.

"I'm so sorry we have to meet like this. Without looking each other in the eye, without a proper two-way conversation… without even being on first-name basis." Harry chuckles breathily, in part to drive out the "I should have's" that are crowding his head. "You never did give me an inch on that one. Or perhaps I never cared to ask. Anyway, now that I know, I'll spare you the teasing. You've probably gotten enough of it over the years from your sister."

He exhales slowly. "There were many things that I didn't know about you, Merlin. Some I'm sure you'd have freely given. I didn't know where you were born or where you were educated. I didn't know if you had family. I didn't know your favorite singer." Again Harry laughs, but the sound is tinged with pain, memories cutting into him like the twist of a knife. He'd thought it was a blessing to regain his lost memories, but now… "I never thought it was important to know, and for that assumption, I apologize.

"I didn't understand, Merlin, that any information you had for me was important. Not just those that dealt with missions, or the orders you called when I was in the field, saving my life more times than I can count. I never noticed the softness in your voice during debriefings, or realized that when you spoke to me in anger, you were really just relieved that I was alive. I never noticed the way your eyes drew to me when I walked into the room, or how you'd always be at my side when I woke up in the medical ward. I never even noticed how many times you asked me come back." Harry paused. "Rather, I did notice, but I chose not to do anything about it. I told myself I couldn't have you, that my responsibility was to the greater good and anything less than that would get in the way. That was my mistake, Merlin. You were never 'less than.' You were never in my way.

"I'd never been in love." Harry stops to clasp his hands together, noticing that he's trembling. For god's sake. He waits for the world to tilt sideways, for the butterflies to burst out of thin air. But the walls around him hold firm, and he continues. "The risk was so great that I couldn't allow myself that pleasure. Until now. The instant I heard you sing, out there in the field, utterly resplendent in the uniform you were never allowed to wear, I thought to myself… 'Now there's a man with whom I could spend the rest of my life.'"

It's not from his head injury. No, the trembling that's growing stronger every second is a result of the emotions swirling back into Harry, rising up to crash around his ears. He shuts his eye tightly, but he knows that the casket won't miraculously disappear before him. Merlin won't step in to take its place, sipping a cup of tea and asking Harry what he thinks he's doing. Merlin won't be anywhere, because Merlin is…

Merlin is dead.

Reluctantly, Harry opens his eye and cracks a shaky smile. Merlin is dead. Merlin is dead, and it's up to him to say goodbye in a way that Merlin deserves. The way he should have whenever he departed on a mission. He steps towards the casket.

"Merlin… I love you." Harry reaches for the casket, brushing against it with light fingertips. If he quiets himself and listens, might he hear Merlin's response? "I love you. And I'm sorry I never got to tell you when I had the chance. I'm sorry I never knew."

He leans in, resting his cheek against the smooth wood. The shaking has fully taken over, and tears are pooling in his good eye, but Harry doesn't mind. Better now that he grieves, when no one is around to see.

"Fare thee well, my love." Harry softly presses a kiss to the head of the casket. It is, after all, the least he can do. "I do hope we'll see each other again someday. In the meantime, I will always hold your memory in my heart."

A choir is exploding in his head, mingling with Merlin's rousing song, and Harry lets the imaginary music roll over him. He knows it's impossible to love a dead man, but maybe, just for now, he can pretend that it's good enough.