Observing missions alongside Noel came with several downsides, namely that Ian had little time to himself. However, Ian never complained about his lack of free time or having to get up at odd hours to observe overseas missions. Engaging in the action onscreen was worth it. Not every night was spent staring into a bright screen, squinting at grainy camera footage, but those that were kept Ian completely occupied. At times he felt like he was playing an arcade game, only with high stakes and very real consequences. But rarely was Ian concerned, trusting the agents' judgement and Noel's guidance.
On his rare nights of freedom, Ian often found Noel curled up in a dead sleep on the battered couch in his office. Given his high caffeine intake, Ian sometimes wondered how his uncle even found it possible to fall asleep at the end of the day.
Ian, on the other hand, grew restless at night despite the day's exhaustive schedule. Usually he visited the gym or the library to catch up on his training. But on occasion Ian took to tiptoeing through the mansion, lurking silently among the shadows. The ground floor remained quiet, the lavish rooms daring Ian to enter them. He approached each one gingerly, as if setting foot beyond their threshold would upset the delicate display within and cause them to crumble around him.
Most nights Delilah retired with Noel, settling into the dog bed he kept in his office. But sometimes she followed Ian, jumping into bed alongside him, tail wagging and dark eyes glowing. A sneaking suspicion built in Ian's mind that perhaps Noel had intended for Delilah to be shared between the two of them. But he couldn't complain, even though he had no intentions of training a dog. Holding her soft warmth against his chest, Ian would run his fingers through Delilah's fur and ruminate on the day's proceedings, his progress, and his feelings on the training he'd been through.
The current verdict was somewhere between inspired and nervous. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the skills he was slowly accumulating. Handling and using guns was just as intoxicating as it had been the first day, and hand-to-hand combat was so invigorating that Ian spent his solitary hours in the library researching various forms of martial arts. And he was still completely honored that Noel had chosen to work with him. However, straightforward combat didn't seem to be his forte. Too much could go wrong during fieldwork, too much potential danger and too many lives that could be lost. Ian knew their lessons were only simulations, but he couldn't stop his mind from running wild with what-ifs. Every time his chest grew tight or his mouth went dry, a sudden rush of anger flooded him. Stop acting so irrational. But he couldn't seem to stave off the panic.
One of these days I've got to do something about this…
The training environment wasn't exactly helpful to Ian's mindset. While the candidates conversed pleasantly and laughed with each other whenever they were permitted, as soon as Ian crept closer the conversation seemed to trickle to a close. They HAVE to be doing it on purpose. Ian wished he could tell them that he wasn't trying to flaunt his immunity, but he suspected that no one would listen.
At any rate, there was nothing to do but his best. Ian knew that he couldn't dare inherit the title of Merlin if he didn't take any vital skills away from training. So he kept his head down and gave the candidates a taste of their own medicine, focusing solely on his personal performance. Isolation quickly became a comfort, keeping Ian's head clear and pushing away the nagging doubts that assailed him when the candidates were near.
But three months into the program, Ian's doubts returned with a single sentence.
"The next major test," Noel informed him, "will be a simulation of live combat."
July 1982
An hour of free time usually preceded lights out, providing the candidates with some much-needed relaxation, or continued study for the devoted. Tonight Harry spent his time grooming Mr. Pickle. Under Harry's hands, Mr. Pickle appeared to fall into a trance, not letting out a single bark. An unconscious smile slowly wreathed across Harry's face, lulled into serenity. The TV's dull murmur and John and Terry's occasional commentary was the only soundtrack to the evening. Beside Harry, Conrad lay in his bunk, engrossed in the pages of a book. Across the room, Isaac groomed his Great Dane. For once, there was no Damon to try and strike up a one-sided conversation from two bunks down and then trade insults with John. Harry sighed, grateful for the quiet at last.
But it was shattered seconds later when Damon and Nick sauntered in, stripped down to shorts and undershirts with water bottles in hand. The door banged against the wall as they entered, which snapped Mr. Pickle back to life. He hopped up and barked at the two approaching men.
"…I'll remember that night as long I live," Damon continued, while Nick kept his eyes affixed to the ceiling, pointedly refusing to look at Damon. "There's no way I could forget a pair of legs like that." He sighed. "If that doesn't count as experience, I don't know what does."
"To be honest, it's hard to tell the experience from the bullshit," Nick replied, his voice stiff with suffering. Damon only snickered as he flopped down on his bunk, resting his hands behind his head.
"Could you please shut your dog up?" Terry called to Harry, turning his head so Harry could see his dour expression. "We're trying to watch a film."
Damon shrugged into his mattress. "I say let Mr. Pickles bark all he wants."
It took all of Harry's restraint not to roll his eyes and correct Damon. After the first couple of times, he'd realized Damon would never get it right. "Mr. Pickle. Quiet." After a few warning growls, Mr. Pickle spun around in a circle and then lay down, rolling onto his back so that Harry could scratch his belly.
"Anyway," Damon said, restarting the conversation, "I don't think you ever said a word about your experience, Nick."
"There's not much to say," Nick all but griped as he stripped his undershirt off. "I've had three girls and, unlike you, I don't need to parade around a trumped-up story to prove that I've had them."
"You shut up!" Damon shouted, springing into a sitting position and aiming an accusing finger at Nick. "You're the one who asked to hear it!"
Harry sighed inwardly. Frankly, it was surprising that he hadn't heard this topic of conversation come up yet. There had been the inevitable comments when they'd studied neuro-linguistic programming, but the topic hadn't really bubbled over until now. Based on his time at university, Harry had found that it never took long to get a group of young men talking about sex. Just count me out of it. If Damon would let him of course…
Nick snorted, before pulling a fresh undershirt over his head. "I find your 'experience' rather pathetic if that's all you have to say about it."
"Well, it depends on what type of experience you're talking about," Isaac piped up, setting his dog's brush down. "Give him the benefit of the doubt, at least."
"We're talking experience with a certain four-letter word," Damon informed Isaac, smirking. "L-O-V-E. Though of course there are others that work just as well."
Isaac's eyebrows shot up, and a devious grin spread across his face. "In that case, you're both amateurs. Come talk to me when you've bedded at least five."
Again Harry had to hold himself back from expressing his deep disinterest in the subject at hand. Keeping attention away from him was a safer course of action. He tried to tune out the conversation as it devolved into a contest of whose "experience" was better and who had done the most things with the most people in the least amount of time. Conrad remained buried in his book, and Harry tried to follow his example by focusing entirely on playing with Mr. Pickle.
Until the sound of his name jolted him unwillingly into the conversation. "Harry? You got anything to say on the matter?"
Harry glanced up to find that Damon's saucer eyes were leveled directly at him. He swallowed to keep from swearing. Of COURSE he's the curious one…
"What do you mean? I wasn't listening."
Damon made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. "You know. What've you got to say about the whole wham bam thank you ma'am? How many birds were you off banging at Oxford instead of studying?" He winked, and once again Harry was reminded of why Damon's sponsor had been asked to "straighten him out."
"None," he said crisply, trying his best to avert the question. "I'm afraid I led a dreadfully boring lifestyle."
Damon, however, pressed on. "Come on, mate, I know you weren't always such a stick-in-the-mud. Not in secondary, anyway. And I find it hard to believe a guy with your looks didn't pull anyone."
Confusion overcame Harry for a moment. How earnestly Damon had spoken… Was he actually expressing interest in Harry, or- No. No, that was too absurd.
"Well, I didn't," he said quietly, and more than a bit crossly. "But if I had, I wouldn't advertise the fact. How would you feel if the woman you've slept with went running to brag to her friends right after? Telling stories about her means betraying her confidence in you. It's disrespectful behavior."
Harry's words stunned Damon into silence. The TV's chatter filled the room as Nick, unconcerned, finished changing, and Isaac sprawled out on his bunk and rolled onto his side. Harry pulled Mr. Pickle onto his lap- the dog had tired out in seconds. Here's hoping Damon has learned a lesson about privacy. Though that was a very slim chance.
Then Conrad spoke up, his deep voice rolling through the air. "I've never even kissed a woman before."
Damon was on him in an instant, eyes shining with incredulity. "What?! Why, Conrad, you have no idea what you are missing!"
"Doesn't surprise me," came John's inevitable malicious comment, his eyes never leaving the TV screen. "No woman in her right mind would want to kiss him."
As Damon's energy was redirected towards defending Conrad's name, Harry stealthily eyed Conrad. Unlike the previous times that John or Terry had insulted him, tonight's comment left Conrad entirely unfazed. He didn't even flush with embarrassment at Damon's tirade, instead calmly reaching down to scratch George behind the ear.
It hit Harry that Conrad must have lied, or at the very least exaggerated, for him to react with such apathy. Following that was the notion that perhaps Conrad had made his claim as a distraction, to spare Harry the awkwardness. He stared down at his hands, making a mental note to find a way to express his gratitude.
As the clock's hands ticked closer to 10, the heated conversation gradually wore down, and the candidates prepared for bed. Harry dragged himself off his bunk and retrieved his toothbrush and toothpaste. He had just taken his first step toward the sinks when Isaac asked the question.
"What do you suppose our next test will be?"
This query was met with shrugs and more than one "Haven't a clue." Harry stole a glance at the sole empty bed on the opposite side of the room, convinced that he wasn't the only person remembering the last elimination. The news had been broken to Frederick at the end of their long and damp sniping session. Merlin hadn't minced words- "Frederick, you hesitated much too long at every target. A Kingsman agent can't just have good aim- he also needs to think on his feet. Pack your bags and go home."
Frederick, predictably, had tried to throw a fit about this, but Merlin had simply repeated "Go home, Frederick" and dismissed the remaining candidates. Because emphasis placed on the sniping test was fairly mild, Harry was left wondering if an unknown offense was responsible for Frederick's expulsion. He left unspoken the assumption that perhaps his grades were the lowest among the candidates. Merlin had never handed back any of the written assignments, but he had impressed their importance upon everyone.
Harry also thought it best not to voice his overwhelming relief that it hadn't been him.
"Whatever it is, I really wish they'd keep that intern out of it," Nick announced after washing his face "Every time he's around I feel like he's listening in on our conversations."
"Yeah, I don't think we should trust him," Isaac chimed in, getting up from his bunk and stretching out his cramped muscles. "I feel like he's only here to spy on us."
"Thank god he doesn't sleep down here," Terry said darkly, switching off the TV and rising from the couch. "We'd never get a moment's peace with him staring at us all the time."
"How do you know he isn't already?" rumbled John, his presence dominating the room "You can't be sure there isn't a camera hidden behind the clock or inside the TV or something." He swept over to the sinks, easily overtaking Harry. An unwanted shudder rippled through him in John's wake. Over the past month, John had proved the most resistant to friendly advances. The only interactions he seemed to regard fondly were competitive.
"In that case," Harry murmured, "perhaps we'd all better watch what we say." Though with company like this, that was easier said than done.
"Aw, lighten up, Harry," Damon called lazily, still sprawled comfortably on his bed. "What's Merlin going to do? He can't prevent us from speaking our opinions, that'd be like oppressing us."
"If you ask me," Nick said, his eyebrows angled upwards, "I think Merlin's all bark and no bite."
"Even his bark's not very good," Terry muttered. Harry watched himself shrug in the mirror as he slid up to the sinks. "What do you expect from him? None of us have stepped out of line. I think we should be fortunate that the tests have taken no more lives."
Terry's response was accompanied by a derisive eye roll. "Oh sure, look who's talking. You've the big shot- Merlin's got nothing but praise for you."
Not my fault if you can't keep up, Harry thought, but he knew voicing that snide remark would start an unnecessary argument. Instead he turned on the faucet, wetting his toothbrush.
"For the first time since I've met him, I think I'm inclined to agree with Terry," Damon announced, though he didn't seem pleased with the fact. In the mirror, Harry saw him sit up and swung his legs over the side of his bunk. Beside him, Conrad put his book down.
"Merlin likes us to be afraid of him, but deep down he's harmless," said Damon. "Kind of like this little guy." He reached out to fondly pat Conrad's dog on the head, but George coldly retaliated by nipping him. With a sharp cry, Damon recoiled. "Whoa! Guess I was wrong…"
"Shouldn't that dog be trained by now?" John said, his voice dripping with contempt.
"I have got him trained," Conrad responded nonchalantly. He ran his hand through George's fur. "I trained him to bite."
Harry couldn't help but chuckle around the toothbrush in his mouth, which brought a smile to Conrad's face. The sight delighted Harry. It had taken a few weeks for Conrad to come out of his shell, but with Harry's coaxing his friend was finally starting to open up.
Removing the toothbrush, Harry rinsed his mouth and turned back to the bunks. "I think you should cut Damon some slack," he said airily. "The comparison isn't far-fetched. To begin with, George and Merlin are both Scottish."
John snorted without turning around. "But Merlin's nowhere near as aggressive as that little bugger. Let's face it- our trainer is not as hard on us as he should be."
"Isn't it better that he isn't?" Conrad quietly suggested.
John stiffened, and a harsh light flared in his eyes. "All I'm saying is, he hasn't got any balls."
None were aware of how untrue that statement was, until the next test came along.
