Chapter 6
If he was honest with himself, Merlin had not spared a thought as to what had happened to Lee Unwin's family after he died. He knew of course that Harry had given them the Kingsman medallion, and perhaps (although it was uncharacteristic of him to say the least) naively, he had always assumed that if the family were having trouble, then they would contact the number. Then Igraine, or Elaine, or Taliesin or whoever it was who was manning the phonelines would have transferred the money, or called out the specialist doctor, or whatever it was that the family considered to be worthy of the blood-debt that Kingsman owed them.
He had never really spared a thought as to what would happen to a family when the main breadwinner was dead, before he had become eligible for the pension that all Kingsman agents had as security for their loved ones.
Perhaps it was because the closest brush with personal poverty he had ever had had been one time when as a student he had had his travel money stolen from his hotel room in Phnom Penh, an incident that had been quickly rectified via a call home.
If Merlin was honest with himself, he was currently feeling that he had rather dropped the ball when it came to checking in on the wellbeing of the family of the man who had saved his life. The council estate flat was hardly the worst place he had ever visited, but the image of Eggsy, face swelling from fresh bruises, wrapped around his bawling baby half-sister inside the squalid grey room whilst the downgrade that had managed to latch itself onto Michelle since Lee's death bled on the carpet…
Suffice to say, he was feeling rather as though he had done Lee's ghost a disservice by failing to even commit a light hacking offence to see how his kid was doing.
To say that he regretted the effect of Eggsy's upbringing though…
Now that would be stretching the truth.
If Merlin was being honest with himself, then he had to admit that Eggsy's upbringing had honed an intelligent, sensitive kid into an unexpectedly versatile weapon.
Lapsed gymnastics practice had turned into the much more useful parkour.
Hours that could have been spent stacking shelves or serving fast food had been spent breaking into houses.
Dropping out of the Marines before the end of Basic had taught Eggsy how to handle firearms, but had failed to train him out of questioning orders.
(Questioning orders was something that was actually quite an important trait in Merlin's branch. If he wanted unquestioning obedience and efficiency that was one hundred percent on his terms, well then he had software for that. If he wanted critical thinking and constructive criticism, then he needed humans who weren't scared to speak out, even if it was against him. Judgement could be trained. The ability to tell one's boss to go fuck himself when he'd missed out a variable required a certain type of personality.)
The shitty stepfather and other denizens of the criminal class had taught Eggsy to recognise threats, how to dodge a punch, how to take a punch, how to lie convincingly under pressure, not to mention the ins and outs of hostile negotiations.
Michelle, who in another life might have continued with her veneer of respectability, had taught him how to run a con, how to pickpocket, how to shoplift, and (albeit inadvertently) to be very, very cautious in who he gave his loyalty to…
But on the other hand, his mates had taught him that the most important thing at the end of the day was to have each other's back, because if you didn't stand together, then everyone took the fall.
(That last trait made Merlin wonder just how well Eggsy might do with the dog test. It occurred to him that familiarising the boy with the feel of a gun full of bullets versus a gun full of blanks might not be a bad idea, just in case a field position opened up soon.)
And Eggsy hid his intelligence almost reflexively, to the point where sometimes, even Merlin forgot who he was dealing with, and was startled by the sudden insights and innovations coming from the boy.
For example: "¿Hablás español?" (Do you speak Spanish?)
"No, hablo castellano." (No, I speak Castillian.)
Merlin could have sworn that was Eggsy's voice responding to what sounded like Lynnette, the woman they usually asked to play translator when Round Table agents required someone who could get around in a Spanish-speaking country.
"Que es la misma cosa," (That is the same thing,) Lynnette said with an air of exasperation.
"Yo pensaba que iba a Argentina. Es importante allí." (I thought you were going to Argentina. It matters there.) The voice that sounded like Eggsy was sounding equally exasperated.
"Lo suficientemente cerca," (Close enough,) Lynnette insisted.
"Hablás al pedo," (You're talking rubbish,) Eggsy snorted.
Merlin rounded the corner to see that it was indeed Lynnette and Eggsy talking.
"…What is going on here?" Merlin wondered aloud, as he considered that perhaps he had hit his head.
Lynnette turned to face him, clearly in a huff. "If you were going to replace me on the mission Merlin, you should have said so."
Merlin blinked. If he was going to what now?
Eggsy raised his hands. "Look, Merlin didn't say jack or squat, I just wanted to check if you knew the difference, is all. Would be like showing up in Australia and expecting that they still speak the Queens' you feel me?"
Lynnette scowled, and attempted to loom over Eggsy. "I'll have you know-"
"Yeah?" Eggsy leaned right into Lynnette's personal space, unintimidated by the taller woman. "What do you know? Because it sure as hell ain't how to speak Argentinian Spanish. Out of the goodness of me 'eart I was all set to give you a couple of tips, but now I'm going to make you ask me nicely."
Lynnette, judging by the way her jaw was hanging slightly open, apparently had not been expecting that.
Eggsy rolled his eyes. "Look, I've been around for the grand total of two weeks. Like hell Merlin's about to trust me out anywhere that ain't directly under his nose so he can watch me fuck up in person."
Merlin watched as Lynnette visibly deflated. "Oh."
"Yeah, 'oh' is right. So are you going to keep on being a twat, or are you going to fucking listen to what I got to tell you?" Eggsy responded with what Merlin felt to be admirable restraint considering the circumstances.
Lynnette looked to Merlin's expression for some form of guidance, paled dramatically at Merlin's expression (sometimes it was useful having what he had heard Dagonet describe rather colourfully as "resting murder face"), and muttered something about how she would be appreciative to get some tips.
Merlin picked up the clipboard he had accidentally left in the room that he had come for in the first place, and left them to it.
"Out of interest, where did you learn Argentinian Spanish?" Merlin asked Eggsy later. Because Eggsy had certainly not taken any units in it at school. (Apparently the comprehensive Eggsy had attended had specialised in half-hearted French and, somewhat idiosyncratically, Hindi. Merlin was now wondering if it was only whimsy that had caused Eggsy to switch from the first to the second mid-way through his school career.)
Eggsy shrugged. "Had an Argentinian lady babysit me when I was a kid. I picked up a few things."
Including, apparently, conversational Argentinian Spanish. Would wonders never cease.
…
Something that Merlin would never learn, but that Lynnette would never forget, would be the phrase that Eggsy taught her that was slang for an unwanted guest showing up-"caer como peludo de regalo". In another universe, she had not recognised the significance, nor the meaning of the phrase that directly translated roughly as "falling like a hairy gift". Overhearing that phrase spoken, Lynnette realised that the driver, a local man, revealed that they were not the only foreigners in the vicinity of the chalet coming to intrude on Professor Arnold.
Lynnette realised that Lancelot was walking into a trap.
In another universe, she would have forever wondered if she could have done something more to help one of her favourite agents.
In this universe though, Lynnette warned Lancelot, and for once, he dialled down the showboating enough that he was not caught entirely off guard by the woman with swords for feet.
He lost the fingers from his left hand.
It could have been his life.
He was arrogant, but he nonetheless knew how close that had been. It was fortunate the sword-like prostheses were so completely useless for walking in snow, or he might not have escaped when he ducked back out the door of the chalet, running past a figure in a thick fur coat who shouted excitedly at him in lisped American English, but did not attempt to stop his escape.
The woman found a gun and tried to shoot him, but by the time she could take aim, he was most of the way to the treeline, and her aim was imperfect at that distance.
"Thanks old girl," was what he said to Lynnette as she gave his dismembered hand first aid in the back of a stolen van, "if you had failed to tip me off, who knows what might have happened."
Lynnette had her suspicions, and knew how close a shave it really might have been.
But she would be damned if that insolent brat got the credit.
...
A/N: Full disclosure: That did not go where I was expecting.