Two days after V-day
Why was it, that whenever some harebrained psychotic scheme to take over the world or kill a whole lot of people came up, it was always thought of by an American?
"Alfred's people are seriously getting out of hand," Arthur Kirkland, living representation of the land and citizens of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, grumbled foully to himself as he carelessly tossed down yet another signed report onto a pile already stacked high.
Apparently, he hadn't been alone as he thought; a scoff came from his right, along with a puff of smoke from a cigar. "Well, ye have tae admit th' kids' always had a few screws loose," pointed out Ian, representation of Scotland, who had just walked through the door.
Arthur shot the redhead a glare, but couldn't exactly refute the truth, whether he wanted to argue or not, so he just huffed noncommittally. "What is it now?" he asked his brother, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
Scotland sighed theatrically, leaning against the office doorway and pointing over his shoulder to the hall. "We've roonded up th' survivin' politicians an' royals; th' meeting's in th' wey o start, wi' ur withit ye." He gestured for England to get a move on.
Not bothering to hold back, the Brit visibly rolled his eyes and did just that, getting to his feet and walking around his desk – still cluttered with paperwork that needed signing and damage reports that needed reading – with a sour glance before falling into step with his brother as they traipsed through Downing Street.
After the brief minutes of psychotic rage that had overcome quite a few billion people worldwide yesterday, the Nations of the world were still trying to piece together everything that had happened, how many survivors there were, and if such madness could happen again.
What they'd found out so far was only that some insane American with a lot of money and a lot of friends had decided the world didn't need as many common people as it currently had, and had created technology that drove a persons' wits out of their head and made them drastically violent.
It didn't end there, of course; thousands of celebrities, billionaires, and over half of the government officials in every country on Earth had signed on to the madman's plan, allowing tiny nano-bombs to be implanted in their necks as a failsafe against blabbing, only to have them activated during the purification process and result in the deaths of millions more people.
The senseless slaughter had ended with the death of Richmond Valentine, aforementioned psycho, and the destruction of his tech. While the loss of free internet and calls was a pain in the ass, it just wasn't worth the risk to keep the damn things around.
Most of the information they'd obtained from the escaped captives of Valentine, who had been until recently held in a secret base in the Alps.
England was already fully aware of all of this before the rescued dignitaries and actors had even popped up again; it had been his own people that had taken the bastard out, after all.
'I just wish they'd been a bit quicker,' he thought mournfully as his eyes swept across a window, finding the grey sky outside both appropriate and depressing. While Valentine had been defeated, he'd still had the time to wipe out an estimated 35% of the planet's population. The numbers were still being calculated, but England couldn't bring himself to care about the other country's losses just yet; the weight of his own citizen's deaths was nearly crushing him.
He didn't fault his Kingsmen for the delay; they'd been betrayed by one of their own, and lost an excellent agent as well. There was no way they could have been faster.
The mild stabbing sensation of grief he'd felt from his own citizens increased slightly at the thought; the agent who'd gone down, Harry Hart (a.k.a. Galahad), had been a good friend for quite a few decades. Learning of his passing, along with Charles' deceit and everything else, had been… hard, to say the least.
England was pulled out of his darker musings at the ring of a cellphone, startling him; after V-day, most everyone had either destroyed or disposed of their cellular phones, rather than risk keeping them and going homicidal again. However, the remaining world leaders had kept theirs, Arthur included, and he dug his phone out quickly.
He wasn't surprised in the slightest at the caller I.D.
He gestured with the phone. "I need to take this."
Scotland took a drag of his cigar (which he really shouldn't be smoking in here, but no one was saying anything to the country), eying his younger sibling dubiously. " And no one's stoppin' ye, but thes meetin' is kinda important if ye recaa…"
Arthur leveled an almost-imploring look at his brother. Rolling his eyes dramatically, Ian sighed loudly and tromped away, waving away a few guards who approached him.
England waited until he was safely out of earshot before answering the call. "Is this going to be more bad news, because frankly I'm not in the mood, Duncan," he said blandly, not bothering with formalities. There was no need for them, certainly not today of all days.
Duncan Rutherford, the tactician and current highest-ranking member of his Kingsmen secret service, more commonly referred to as Merlin, didn't take it personally. "Over half of the Round Table is empty, sir. I needed to call you sooner or later. Our situation is rather dire."
England clenched his eyes shut, rubbing fitfully at his temple, feeling a stress migraine already beginning to form. "And half of Parliament is gone, as well as 20 million other British citizens; believe me, Merlin, I know it's dire. But I can't be everywhere at once; the Royal Family and what remains of the government have been scrambling to keep the peace, and I've only got about five minutes to chat before a rather life-changing meeting is going to take place."
"Of course, sir, and reestablishing the government is vital, but we're operating in the dark here. I have two rookies and three old men under my command, absolute zero back-up, aside from you, and the entire globe to look after. It's just impossible, sir."
"I'm quite aware of that, thank you," England ground out, taking a long breath and letting it out slowly. Those years raising America had certainly paid off in helping him learn patience. "The other Nations are taking care of their respective countries, so you can relax for the moment. Any and all emergencies will be handled by them, I can assure you of that."
There was a long, relieved breath from the other end; Merlin sounded light-headed already at the prospect of a break. England relaxed slightly as well, leaning slightly against the wall of the hallway he was in.
"Thank you, sir. Any news on… everything?" Merlin asked.
Arthur sighed, running a hand through his rumpled hair tiredly. "Too much, I'm afraid. At least ten million dead in every country around the world, and no small amount of wounded on top of it. Clean-up is going to take weeks, if not months, and God knows how many will panic in the meantime. It's incredibly hard to be calm when the entire world has been torn out from under you."
"I can imagine so," Merlin said quietly, and England was rather violently reminded that his friend had lost more than a few friends as well in Valentine's insane plot.
"How are Lancelot and Galahad getting along?" he asked quickly, wishing to distract them both from such darker paths of thought. Technically, he didn't have the time to be chatting about a couple of teenagers, but what the Parliament didn't know wouldn't hurt them.
The smile was heard clearly in Merlin's voice as he admitted, "A bit shaken up, but otherwise fine. Eggsy's off to find his mum, and Roxy is just happy to be home again. I don't think the gravity of what they just helped prevent has hit them just yet, but I expect it to do so at any second now…" He paused as if waiting for an explosion; when nothing happened, he simply huffed wordlessly.
"I forgot to ask earlier, but could you thank Eggsy for me? His work really was rather admirable," Arthur said warmly, nearly smiling at the young man's name; while they'd never met personally, Eggsy Unwin was a name he knew almost as well as his own at this point. If he couldn't give the boy a medal or some winding speech about bravery and gratitude, then he could at least have his mentor do it for him.
"Yeeeeaaaah, about that," Merlin drawled slowly, and England involuntarily straightened, staring at his phone suspiciously.
"What?" he asked reluctantly, kind of afraid to in all honesty.
"It can wait. You best hurry up to your meeting now, sir-"
"Merlin," England ground out, and God was it nostalgic to say that name again, "What is it?"
The other man wasted a few seconds in hesitant silence, which did nothing to ease England's growing worry and paranoia.
"Well, sir," Merlin started, "It really is nothing, but-. Seeing as over half of the Round Table is dead, I thought it prudent to begin replacing them all as soon as possible."
"Of course," England responded, a bit confused; he'd thought this was going to go south rather than back to what they'd said earlier.
"And, well- pardon me for saying so, sir, but I can't think of anyone in this country better qualified for the job of Kingsman than a former Kingsman."
With a blink, and dawning realization, England allowed a smirk to slowly form on his face. "And so…?"
"I do believe we are in need of a new Arthur, Mr. Kirkland. And seeing as you once held the position yourself, I thought it only natural to call you up to see if you were willing to take it."
Arthur Kirkland laughed, briefly, and very quietly, but laughed all the same.
"Why, Merlin, you know just what to say to win a man's heart," he drawled, grinning out the window; outside, for once, a bit of sunlight seemed to be fighting its way through the thick cloud cover. Perhaps today was not as bleak as it was.
"Of course, sir. I learned from the best," Merlin responded, sounding very relieved indeed at the positive reaction.
With a sigh, England scratched idly at his ear, noticing a rather impatient Wales and Ireland glaring at him poisonously from the meeting room's doorway. Turning away from them briefly, he decided it was time to wrap this up lest he incur all of his sibling's wrath. "I need to go, but I'll pop by the shop in about three hours, alright? I expect my suit to be waiting for me," he said, only half-joking.
"Yes, Arthur, whatever you say," Merlin said, clearly rolling his eyes.
Arthur grinned and hung up, stuffing the cell into his pocket and turning back to his brothers, who had scathing remarks about his tardiness ready for him as he approached.
The world was still a mess.
People were still dead and cities were trashed and entire government's had collapsed.
But, for the moment, England felt a little better.
Because if anyone could sort it all out, it was his Kingsmen.
A/N: Um. Arthur Kirkland = Kingsman Arthur. Was I the only one who immediately thought of that? Because it's a rather flawless idea, don't you think? ;D Anyway, uh. This might be continued. Maybe not. Not sure yet, but I'd love to know what you think in the meantime! Later!
~Persephone
(P.S. Please don't kill me for Scotland's accent! I have no idea how to write thick Scottish accents, so I kinda cheated and found a website that helped me with it; if it's inaccurate or hard to read, I apologize!)