Chapter 2: Goodbyes

The boy barely looked up when Thorne came into the interrogation room. The guards kept their guns trained on him as he was tugged from the table to the gurney and escorted him out of the room and into the small OR.

They laughed at him as he ushered them out, calling out insults out of habit about his softheartedness and ridiculous demand for privacy. It had been the same routine since he arrived here a couple years ago.

His known belief – having a caring heart in a cruel place is not a weakness, but a strength- was crumbling by the day and mocked at every time, but he tried to stay strong. It was one of the few things he had left.

Emrys had told him the boy believed the same when he told the Scotsman about his life. Apparently, they both had a weakness for animals. It made James want to save him more. Soft hearts had to be protected.

The door closed behind the guards. James became Doctor Thorne again as he turned on the lights and set to work on the man strapped to the gurney. He stitched what he could, laid cold compresses where it probably hurt the worst, and administered as many painkillers as he dared.

'Do you think', the boy coughed after about a quarter of a minute, 'I'll ever play the piano again, doc?' God, but he was a strong soul. Brave heart, him. Kept making the same joke, even his state. Too much like his own son, too much, too much.

He even made the effort to not betray his origin by talking his accent, James could tell. He spoke on the posh side of BBC English.

James looked at the door. He knew for a fact they were soundproof. On top of that, his boss trusted his methods of persuasion enough to not have camera surveillance installed anywhere that was not the interrogation rooms or the corridors. No need to expect betrayal when you could torture your employees into submission.

He turned back to the young man: 'My boy, I've been reliably informed by a little bird that you don't play the piano.' Then he took the glasses out of his bag.

His eyes grew big and confused. 'Wha- Why are you waving my glasses around? I don't know what you're on about.'

If James hadn't known for sure that he did, in fact, what he was on about, he would have believed him. The kid was good. No wonder they hadn't cracked him yet.

'Emrys told me you might be like that. Here, I'll just give him and let him talk to you himself.' He gently set the broken glasses on top of the kid's reset nose. The boy convincingly kept looking at him as if he were mad right up until understanding shone in his eyes and the biggest smile suddenly burst through.

He looked so much younger like that, like he should be in college right now, having fun with mates, playing pranks, partying. God. Too young. Thorne choked. What kind of monster was he working for that he would hurt a kid like this one?!

James had survived this shit by keeping in mind the people interrogated were all criminals of one sort of another- but this, this child? God no. He might be a spy, but then one fighting the good fight. He was sure of it.

The boy started murmuring relievedly to his friend through the glasses. He turned around to give the some privacy and looked at his instruments. He still wasn't finished with the boy's patching up. He'd get right on that as soon as the talk was done. He prepared an injection that would give the boy some much-needed rest. It was the best he could give him. Well, that and a friendly voice.

The talk petered out. He turned back around. The boy was staring straight at the ceiling, but James could still see the sadness, the pain, the sheer tiredness in his eyes. He knew, then. No way to get out.

Not even the supervisor knew where the complex was. Somewhere in South- America, but that was about it. Thorne was allowed some time off to visit his son and his ex-wife, most school holidays actually, but he was sedated from the moment his suitcase was packed to the moment the plane touched down at Heathrow.

No way to find out through the accents of his co-workers, either, because they were from all over the world. The cook living in the cell next to him came from Beijing. The boy's interrogators were Dutch and Texan. None of them knew where they were, nor what their boss's face was.

There was just no way for the boy's fellows to come fetch and possibly save him, or any of the forced workers (which included all but the interrogators themselves, and even they didn't start out completely willingly).

No way to save the boy, and still Thorne would risk a lot just to give him what comfort he was able to offer. Too much like his son, and also far too young and innocent. James remembered what Emrys had said about his love for animals and soft heart. He could just imagine him playing with puppies and kittens, see him reading bedtime tales to little children. The kid shouldn't be here, he shouldn't-.

But he was. He was here and he was hurt, and James should help him.

'Hey' he said softly. The boy looked at him. He softly made a gesture to his operation intruments. The boy nodded, set his jaw and looked at the ceiling again. By the time Thorne was done treating him, the boy' eyes were glistening- though not with pain, but with defeat.

James felt the urge to comfort him, and so he laid a soft hand on the boy's head. He ruffled his hair gently and cupped his face.

'I'm sorry', he whispered.

The boy started crying then, silently. James hurried to wipe away the tears, pet his shoulders where they weren't bruised, and he started to sing a lullaby. His voice broke multiple times but he kept singing. Whatever comfort he could give, James thought, whatever comfort.

When the boy had calmed down, he offered him an injection he had never in his life prepared before. The boy looked at him- green eyes hazy with pain and red with tears- for a long time, sizing him up. James did his best to not look away, to stand fast, to show how certain he was about this.

James could hear Emrys raging through the speakers of the glasses, but that quieted quickly until Scotsman cursed so loudly he could make out the words "Dammit, Eggsy!".

'That's his name, then?', he thought, 'Eggsy?' Somehow it suits him, a name that sounds so young and yet so rough. A nickname, perhaps. Maybe even a spyname.

James tried out the name: 'Eggsy?'

The boy- no, Eggsy- furrowed his brow a bit and then closed his eyes. He nodded. 'I'll take it', he said. 'But not like this. Take the glasses.'

James took the glasses and put them on himself. 'Emrys, you recording?', Eggsy asked.

'Yes', the man whispered in James' ear. James nodded, then said yes when he realized the boy couldn't see it with his eyes closed.

'Make sure my mum and the little flower can't see it, only hear it, okay?', he demanded.

He paused, looking for words. Eggsy scoffed, his accent slipping in here and there: 'Look at me! Always proud of me words and now I can't for the life of me find the words to tell ya how much I love you. And I do, mum, I do love ye! And our flower, too! Beau'iful, she'll be! And smar' as a fox. I love her. Tell her I love her, mum, tell her as much as you can.'

'I'm sorry I won't be there for ye. I wish I could see her grow, I wish I could see ye become so much happier away from that fucker D. But I can't and I'm sorry. I never wished for this. It shouldn't have happened. You already lost da to this, mum and now- I'm sorry, so sorry, I- .'

He sighed shakily.

'Em, I'm sorry you have to see this. But I love you, bruv, you know that. You were the guv'nor, you were. So's my Petra. She's the bomb, and I'm sorry I won't be there to see her kick ass anymore. I'm sorry if I made her cry. You watch out for her, Em, don't let 'er go. Take care of me mum and flower, Em, don't abandon them as they did when-. You know when.'

'And tell him- tell him I'm sorry I won't come visiting again. Buy him roses for me, a red one and a thornless one and maybe dark crimson and always, always a tea rose, and daffodils, pink carnations, and magnolia's. It's what I usually bring him. Add a purple hyacinth, now, too.'

James heard Emrys sob through the glasses' speaker, as if he understood perfectly what the boy was saying.

'I guess that's it' Eggsy said, 'I'm sorry I let all of ye down. Take care. I love you. Goodbye.'

There was a pregnant pause. James uncurled his white-knuckled grip from the gurney's handles and noticed his hands were shaking through tear-filled eyes. Emrys was trying to get his breath back under control and murmured that that was the end of the recording, which he repeated.

Eggsy opened his eyes, and looked at James. When he spoke again, he was back to his clean English, and there was determination in his eyes now.

'Now how are we going to pull this off without you being suspected?'


"Buy him roses for me, a red one and a thornless one and maybe dark crimson and always, always a tea rose, and daffodils, pink carnations, and magnolia's. It's what I usually bring him. Add a purple hyacinth, now, too"

So it's a tiny headcanon of mine that Eggsy knows flower language, what with the gentleman education and My Fair Lady. So of course, having been unable to tell Harry his feelings, he lays bouquets at his grave stone every time he visits.

Red rose: love, respect

Thornless rose: love at first sight

Dark crimson rose: mourning, grief

Tea rose: I'll remember, always

Daffodil: unrequited love, you're the only one, the sun shines when I'm with you

Pink carnations: I'll never forget you

Magnolia: nobility

Purple hyacinth: regret, I'm sorry

So: love love love, grief at his death, respect for his noble character, i'll never forget you and now: i'm sorry for everything that went wrong