Hello! I realize that it has been way too long since my last post, but I've had a lot of fun writing this and planning out these next chapters. A lot has been happening lately, but this story is what is getting me through! So I hope everyone doesn't hate me too much for the delay. Be ready for these next chapters, too, because things are going to get messy!

As always, enjoy and review!

Bedivere woke with about as much energy as an iron skillet. That's about all he was these days; solid iron. His joints moved with a crick and his neck didn't want to turn and food never really tasted the same as it did because he saw only the look in his lover's eyes the last time they turned away from one another.

Standing up with his cast iron spine, he rolled out of bed and dragged his feet to the washroom. He looked in the mirror. It was unfortunate that the figure that gazed back at him was a reasonably put-together bloke that carried himself as a Kingsmen should. Tall, stoic, strong… perhaps a bit empty.

He should look just as terrible as he felt. But he looked normal.

Grumbling to himself, sleep still in his eyes, Bedivere leaned forward over the sink and towards the mirror to look deeper into his face. He inspected the faint bags hanging under his glazed sockets, the chapped lips that almost bled and the bruise on his cheek underneath the utter defeat pouring out of him.

The man who stared back at him was broken but had a talent for hiding his chip. His knuckles turned white as he grasped the sink, shoulders hunched. As he stared at his reflection, he waited for slim arms to wrap around his torso and a sleepy voice to rasp against his back to tell him sleepily to go back to bed.

The mirror was empty of his love and only showed a lonely man.

"Doesn't matter now, does it?"

His words fell on deaf ears. Only the washroom sink and glossy floor tiles heard.

His favorite memories of her were lazy ones; driving through the night together, hiding away from crowded parties, laying together during tired mornings. They both lived on the precarious ledge of Devron's rage and Callisto's claws, but they managed and that's all it took.

Still staring into the mirror, he recalled the little quirks he's come to love. Evie was partial to pin curling her hair. She'd swirled rivulets of her blond tresses up in little bundles, pin them, and wore a scarf to bed. He had prodded her with jokes but it was endearing. Watching her pin her hair the nights he had with her stuck to him; the sound of individual pins dropping on the floor or porcelain sink reverberating.

And now she was so close but all he could do to protect her was watch surveillance and destroy a punching bag. But even that wasn't enough to keep her from slipping from his fingers.

He had read the report. Evie fled Lancelot's apartment after some sort of altercation with Gregory. Galahad went after her and he spent the night.

Maybe it wasn't love. Maybe everything was fantasized.

Maybe the image of her blonde tresses streaked across his chest or the way rain clung to her like perfume or the feel of her lips on his was just an illusion. Fitzgerald shouldn't have written about a Jay Gatsby, he should have written about a Sir Bedivere and his disintegrating grasp on what was love. Was this love?

No, Sir, I don't know.

He looked back up into the mirror. Evie was supposed to be with him. He had let her slip through his arms because he couldn't convince her she was safe with him. She had turned away from the Kingsmen, from him, from everything they could have been.

The anger and the anguish swirled around Bedivere's head so fast that before he knew what he was doing, his fist tore through the mirror.

It was an oddly silent event. Bedivere watched the shards of glass pepper the sink and bathroom tiles. Soft chinks fell against porcelain. Blood spattered here and there. He didn't really feel it.

Removing his fist from the now shattered mirror, he felt his knuckles throb from the concrete wall the mirror hung on. He picked out the bloody shards of glass from his knuckles, distantly recalling that he didn't have gauze and left the shattered mirror behind him.

At that very moment, as Bedivere picked the glass out of his knuckles, Eggsy met up with Roxy in the farthest gate of the London airport terminal. Black coffee in hand, he unbuttoned his jacket and sat down opposite his partner. Roxy was tapping her toe against the metal frames of the benches.

"You never called in last night," she said with an accusatory glare.

Eggsy hesitated as he raised his cup to his lips. He knew what the glare Roxy was shooting him led to and he didn't particularly feel like going down that road today. Especially not before he had fully enjoyed his coffee. Throwing caution and his newly developed sense of propriety to the wind, Eggsy took three long burning draughts of his coffee before answering.

"Elaine was at her apartment and not in the soberest of sorts. Nothin' happened, I swear. I jus' made sure she was okay," he shrugged.

Honestly, he hadn't thought staying the night with Elaine would garner such suspicion, he didn't and would never consider trying to start something with Elaine when she was so vulnerable and Eggsy couldn't help but feel hurt that Roxy would think so low of him. But he should have known considering the people he worked with.

Roxy stopped tapping her foot and leaned towards him.

The clattering of travelers and airport staff and security weaved around them. The intercom echoed through the terminal and the rush of travelers. Roxy was still glaring at him.

"If I find out you've slept with her-"

"You won't because I haven't," Eggsy said, leaning forward, as well. "You know me, Rox. I wouldn't do tha'. I might be a tosser but I'm no cheat."

Roxy let a smile slip.

"You're not a tosser, Sir Galahad. You are simply… unconventional at times. And I do trust you."

She punctuated her last words with a pointed look before relenting and leaned back. Glancing at the clock, Roxy took out her tablet and scrolled through a list of notices.

"Bedivere will be joining us later than expected."

And so he did.

When Bedivere entered the plane after the two Kingsmen had boarded, Galahad had already settled into his seat and was halfway through his second coffee and Lancelot was sorting through the mission objectives.

"Alright, Bedivere?"

He looked up to see Galahad eyeing his poorly bandaged hand. Blood was seeping through his gauzed knuckles.

"Fine," he said after turning away from the two of them.

Galahad appeared to be about to rebuke but went back to his coffee. An attendant came out of the cockpit to hand Bedivere a roll of fresh bandages.

"What are the specifics of the mission?" Galahad asked.

Lancelot folded her glasses and acknowledged her fellow Kingsmen.

"Bedivere and I will pose as a newlywed couple honeymooning in Prague. We'll follow the parties that a number of known Callisto members attend. Galahad, you'll be surveillance. Merlin made it clear that this is just an intel mission."

"Jus' an intel mission? Lance, all we've been doin' is Intel and surveillance. There's gotta be somethin' more we can do other than schmoozing a bunch of toffs in the Czech Republic!"

"Evie is safe. That's our priority. Any progression outside of that is bound to be taken in careful steps," Bedivere said, tieing off the bandage around his knuckles.

"I agree with Bedivere," Lancelot said.

Galahad threw his hand up and finished off his coffee in one bound.

Back in London, a lonely flower girl lie sprawled across her floor and stared at the ceiling. Once Eggsy had left after insisting to cook her breakfast, Elaine took a long shower and then committed to laying on the floor next to her fabrics for an indefinite amount of time. She then proceeded to worry excessively about the state in which her life was in. One of her favorite past times.

It was mid-afternoon and a soft chill whisked across the wood floor she laid against. Too lazy to turn off the tv in the other room, Elaine sighed as she listened to a reporter list off the forecasts for the week. Thunderstorms were apparently moving in and the news reporters went back and forth about an important space-exploration mission. Something about new bacteria or something, Elaine didn't care to pay attention.

Coming from the direction the reporter's voice was emanating from, Hershel trotted up and made himself comfortable against her stomach.

"What do you think Hershey?" Elaine asked, bringing one hand up to cushioning the back of her head and the other to scratch the cat on his chin.

He purred against her chest.

"Should I be more concerned with Eggsy or Greg? Or both? I should probably just spiral down a sinkhole of anxiety. That's my default. Isn't it?" She said as she ran her hand over the cat.

Hershel growled and stepped over her to go eat the food she set out for him.

Remaining on the ground with a roll of felt like a pillow, Elaine grabbed her phone and brought up Maisy's number. In rang four times until she picked up.

"Bitch! It's about time you fucking called!" The line crackled with how loud Maisey's greeting was.

Half expecting that, Elaine bought her other hand up to her forehead and sighed.

"Why didn't you call me if you're so mad?" Elaine asked.

"I was giving you your space," Maisey paused. "Are you okay?"

Hesitating, she squirmed on the wood floor in order to grab a bolt of felt to use as a pillow.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she lied, picking at a loose thread of felt by her neck.

"You sure?" Maisey asked.

Elaine considered the mild mess her apartment was in and how a slightly scattered tailor was really her only safety net at the moment. But her safety net was no longer beside her and thoughts of intruders were stalking the corners of her mind. She thought for a moment about unloading everything but decided against it.

"I guess," she mumbled, biting her lip and thinking about asking Eggsy to stay another night.

"I'm eating ice cream and Daniel is in Chatfield and I'm lonely and ready for a good story and I want to help you so dish it, bitch."

Sitting up, Elaine almost threw her hands up which Herchel didn't appreciate.

"I got drunk and Eggsy stayed the night…"

"You slept with him! Oh my god, you slut! Good for you, I'm so proud."

"I didn't sleep with him," Elaine said, falling back onto the makeshift felt pillow.

There was a mildly disappointed grumble at the other end of the line.

"But you got drunk and…"

"And I made a complete fool of myself!" Elaine stood up and started nervously pacing around her apartment. "He's helped me with so much. I mean, he got his uncle to help with my break in and he handled the run-in with Greg and-"

"Hold up. Greg found you?"

Elaine stopped her pacing. She came to a halt at her mannequin and mentally chastised herself for not bringing up the matter more delicately.

"Yyess… that's the other thing I'm calling about."

"Are you okay? Did he pull the same stunt as he did at the wedding rehearsal?"

"No, no… kinda." Elaine sank to the floor again.

Exhausted, she put her phone to her chest, tears swelling in her eyes as she distantly heard Maisy ranting about police and prison and what she would do to him again if he ever saw her again. Elaine put the phone to her ear again.

"It's my fault, Maisy."

Elaine wrapped a stray thread around her thumb. Maisy sighed through the connection and Elaine heard the interjections her best friend was prepared to throw at her. But before she could do that, Elaine started again.

"I let him fall in love with me. I smiled and encouraged and considered him a friend and it's my fault." The tears were slipping freely now.

"Elaine," Maisy said.

"No. He confessed his love to me a few weeks before the wedding. I didn't say anything because I thought I could fix it. But it just spiraled. Three weeks is all it took to upend my life. Three weeks. And if I had come out and said something to Evie that morning when Greg came to my apartment to screw everything up, there would have been no dress rehearsal disaster and Evie would still be my other half. I don't know how I'm going to fix this, Maisy. I really don't. And it is entirely my fault."

Elaine's voice was wavering. Her thumb was blue from the thread she tied around it. Maybe she would leave the thread to suffocated her thumb until it fell off.

"Elaine, I'm gonna need you to stop crying and listen to me. I'm gonna say something and you're not going to like it but you're going to listen anyfuckingways." Maisy ordered.

Elaine sniffled and untied her thumb.

"What?" She asked indignantly, pulling her knees up to her chin.

"I hated you for about the first three months I knew you."

"Excuse me?"

"You're not excused. I despised you, Ellie, because I had a crush on Tommy Gundersen. We had math class with him freshman year, remember?"

"God, he had a mullet that was about twenty years too late but looked oh so fine on Tommy." Elaine reminisced through her tear soaked cheeks.

"I know, right? It took serious skill, even back in the day. Did you know he runs a Pilates studio now? So Weird. I always pictured him being into like, some new age Bob Ross movement, you know? But a pilates studio..."

"Maisy. Why are we talking about Tommy Gundersen?" Elaine asked, leaning against the windowsill and bumping her forehead against the cool glass.

Maisy scoffed through their connection.

"Because I had a crush on him since elementary school and then high school math rolls around and you step foot into the classroom and Tommy was in love."

"Tommy never loved me," Elaine said, throwing that ridiculous idea out the window.

She sat straighter when Herschel jumped up on the sill and pawed at her leg.

"I regularly saw him doodling Mr. Tommy Daniella on his notes."

Elaine scoffed as she pulled Herschel closer to her.

"So I hated you because he loved you, but then I fell in love with you, too. People like you, Ellie, and you can't help it. You get what you give and you are so disgustingly loving that sometimes I want to punch you in your stupid cherry blushed face but I can't because I fucking love you. Its an insidious cycle."

"This isn't making me feel better," Elaine said, watching the pedestrians walk outside her window.

"I'm saying that it isn't your job to censor yourself. It should have been clear that being flirtatious and inviting is your default setting and it was none of Greg's business putting words in your mouth."

"I guess," Elaine whispered.

"Do you want me to fly back out to London? Because I will."

"No, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I could bring you a grilled cheese."

"Thanks, but I don't think you can bring me a sandwich four thousand miles."

"Bitch, don't underestimate me. I'll make a grilled cheese right fucking now and bring it to you."

Elaine smile. She thought for a moment of professing all the things she loved about Maisy, but Maisy would brush her off. Elaine may be the giver of love but Maisy was the silent, unrelenting ocean of unspoken care.

"I love you."

"Yeah, I guess I love you, too." Maisy sounded reluctantly emotional over the phone, which said a lot. "But seriously, Ellie, I'll fly out again. Or you come stay with me and Daniel. He loves you, well… obviously."

"Thanks, but, I don't really want to talk about this right now."

"Okay."

The line fell silent for a moment. Tired of listening to the reporter talking about all the thunderstorms rolling in and space missions she didn't care about, Elaine dropped Herschel, walked into the next room and shut off the TV.

"Are you going to interview for the dress shop you talked about?"

Elaine huffed as she fell back into the armchair by the TV.

"Vafara Tulle? No, no. They wouldn't take me."

There was a pause on the other side of the line.

"Okay."

Elaine narrowed her eyes.

"Okay? Why did you say it like that?"

Maisey hesitated for a moment.
"It's just… look, I know things are shitty and horrible but this is the same stunt you pull. Elaine, you are amazing and capable and you always undersell yourself. Just for once can you grow a spine and go for the job? And for fuck's sake, seduce Eggsy!"

"I can't seduce people."

"Spring break, Maui. I distinctly remember us trying to get into that club and it taking a little extra cleavage and persuasion on your part to get us in there…"

"Maisy!"

"What? I'm proud! And it's not like you did anything," she said. "Oh! Do you still have that dress? Dude, your boobs look so good in that dress!"

"I'm going to hang up," Elaine threatened as she shook her head with a smile.

"No, no, you're an innocent princess who would never seduce anyone! You're as pure as a unicorn!"

"Damn right," Elaine laughed as she sank into the armchair, her legs draping over the arm.

"Just promise me you'll try for the job. And the gentleman," Maisey said.

"If I promise, can we end this conversation?"

"No, but for the sake of my argument I'll pretend to drop it for a few minutes."

Elaine sighed as heavily as she could, hoping her exasperation carried through the line all the way to Minneapolis. But she ended up relenting with a roll of her eyes.

"Good," Maisy said. "I'm going to go get Chipotle, but I'll call you back later."

"Okay. Say hi to Daniel for me."

"No." Maisy ended sweetly.

Elaine rolled her eyes and rolled over to lay her back on the floor again. Herschel trotted up and plopped down beside her.

"What do you think, Hershey?"

642 miles away from the apartment in which the flower girl was talking to her cat, Galahad, Lancelot, and Bedivere were preparing for an evening of espionage.

"Galahad, what's your progress?" Lancelot asked as she put on gold earrings and stilettos.

"Oi, mate. I'm on surveillance. I'm jus' some bloke on a roof wearing sweats. I've been ready for an hour," Eggsy walked into the bedroom where Roxy was getting ready wearing a dark hoodie with running kecks and trainers.

Roxy, on the other hand, was garbed in a coquettish black evening dress, which, Eggsy observed in the most mannerly way possible, clung to her assets very, very nicely.

"You look like you're ready to kill a bloke." Eggsy said.

He put his hands up at her challenging glare then lazily fell into the armchair behind him.

"That's because I am," Roxy said as she put in her second earring before calling into the other room. "Bedivere, status?"

"Ready to proceed," he said, sounding rather bored.

He walked into their little lounge wearing a simple tuxedo, his dark hair slicked back and his hand freshly rewrapped.

"Whenever you're ready, darling," Bedivere said.

"Thank you, dear," Roxy winked as a tube of Russian Red lipstick slipped over her lips. Ignoring the two men in front of her, Roxy put her stiletto-clad foot on the glass coffee table and lifted up her silk skirt to secure her gun.

"The party started an hour ago, so we should be early enough to be fashionable, but late enough so that we aren't questioned," Bedivere said, checking his own gun.

"Right, well I'll get a head start. Good luck to the happy couple," Eggsy said before exiting the flat.

"Shall we?" Bedivere extended his arm.

"We shall." Lancelot intertwined her arm with his.

They walked down the streets of Prague arm in arm, the evening dewy with the night sky. It was a bubble of serenity that Roxy was beginning to see as more coveted as her life as a Kingswomen progressed.

Galahad informed them that he was in position. After he did, Roxy reached up and silenced her earpiece. Catching on, Bedivere did the same.

"So what's actually bothering you?" Roxy asked.

When Bedivere remained silent, Roxy pushing him a bit. "A lack of communication between newlywed couples is a sign of the eventual failure of the marriage, you know."

"All due respect, Lancelot, while your concern is appreciated, I am perfectly fine and there's no need for alarm."

"Yes, you've said," Roxy said.

Down the street they strolled down, a balcony stood above the cobblestone walkways illuminated with candles and Chinese lamps. There, the high society of Prague spent their evenings, drunk with money and drugs and falsely held beliefs of their philanthropy. From here, a block away from the party, both Lancelot and Bedivere went through their stories and prepared their masks of another life.

Once they were at the epicenter of the party, Bedivere took Lancelot's waist and they danced with the other toffs on the balcony in Prague.

"Something happened between you two."

Bedivere stayed silent, his stoicism remaining concrete.

"This is about as private as we're going to get." Roxy snaked her hand up to his neck and pulled him to look at her. "And I'm concerned."

The couples swayed around them. A drunk patron tipped over in his chair. The attendants helped him up and escorted him out as the other guests laughed and gawked.

They were entirely alone.

"You loved her."

"Lancelot, I care a great deal about your opinions, but not on this topic. This is inappropriate."

"Galahad hasn't slept with her."

"Lancelot, we should focus on the mission at hand."

Roxy sighed but nodded.

As Bedivere lead their dance, both were on the lookout for the three suspected Callisto. A few songs into the party, Roxy spotted one.

"Seven o'clock, Chet Strome."

Bedivere took a leisurely glance at the bar when their dance let him face the other side of the room.

"As we agreed?" He asked.

"As we agreed."

Roxy pushed him away and slapped him straight across the jaw.

"What do you mean you slept with her!?" Roxy yelled.

Bedivere stepped forward to pretend to console her.

"NO! No, this is over."

Feigning tears, Roxy stalked over to the bar and seated herself conveniently close to the Callisto agent.

While the mission in Prague was going just as planned, things were significantly less exciting in London.

Elaine was just settling into a cozy blanket and her fifth rereading of Pride and Prejudice and a deep mug of peppermint tea when her phone rang. Taking a sip from her cat-shaped mug, Elaine jumped up and answered.

"Hello?"

Elaine leaned against her kitchen counter and waited for a reply, but all that came through was static.

"Hello?" She repeated.

"There will be bombings at all Houses of Parliament at 1800 tomorrow."

The speaker was warbled as if their voice was scrambled. Elaine pushed away from the counter and tried not to freak out too much.

"Who is this?" Elaine asked this had to be a prank.

"I can't tell you what to do," the person sounded like they couldn't keep some sort of sadness out of their voice.

"Who the hell is this?! Hello?" Elaine asked, started to pace now.

There was another hollow, static silence on the other side of the connection. When the scrambled voice came through the line, it was much quieter.

"Get out of Birchwood while you still can."

There was a definitive click at the end of the line.

Elaine stood still for a moment, the silence of her apartment reverberating in her ears. It took a moment for it to really click. No one could have known what those ending words meant.

"Shit," Elaine frantically called the number back, her fingers shaking. "Pick up, pick up,"

It rang until the automated voice told her there was no one to talk to.

"Shit, Evie, pick up, damn it, EVIE!" She screamed into the phone.

She dialed again and again.

There was only the automated voice telling her to fuck off.

"Damn it,"

Her hands were shaking so much now that the phone slipped from her fingers.

Get out of Birchwood was their last stance, their final warning, their secret code when things were past bad and they were facing something deeper and darker than that summer years ago.

You got out of Birchwood before people started dying.

Her apartment seemed smaller than it had ever been and there was too much rushing towards her. Bombings. Birchwood. Lost sisters.

Grabbing her phone, she scrolled through her contacts and called the one person who might be able to help.

Each ring of the line lasted hours.

"Hello?" Elaine said frantically. "I know it's late but I was hoping we could meet up. Something- no, I'm fine- yes, I just… something happened, or no, just, I really need to explain this in person."

There was a pause.

Elaine grabbed a pen and paper, listening intently to the person on the other side of the line.

"Yes, I know where that is. Thank you. I'll be there in a bit."

Elaine hung up. Racing out of her apartment, she didn't bother with a jacket.

Guest reviews:

To Gossamermouse: Yes! More cliffhangers!

To WhoopsxD: No! Eggsy and Roxy are not dating, but there are still certain rules that Kingsman are expected to follow (i.e. not sleeping around with assets)

To Guest: I am still alive! Thank you for checking in!