In the wake of V-Day, with everything that had to be cleaned up and returned to somewhat relatively normal peace (“like that will ever happen,” Eggsy has griped more than once over both expensive alcohol or cheep beer with Roxy. “If it isn’t some psycho eco-terrorist bent on reshaping the world in his image, it’s dictators and extremist sects. It’s never gonna end, swear down.”), smaller things tend to fall by the wayside. In this case, said small thing being one Harry Hart who, as it turned out, was not in fact dead.
Needless to say, the one-am phonecall from a hospital in Kentucky was definitely both aggravating and a complete relief. (“Mr - er - Gary DeVere?” The receptionist had said when she called, sounding unsure and a little bit sick. Eggsy had, albeit groggily and confused as to why he was being called from a stateside hospital and addressed by an almost unrecognizable alias, replied that yes, he was Gary DeVere, what could he do for her? “Well, you see, we have your husband here, and our doctors have given him the okay to go home. The one problem is that you’re the only one listed in his health records as able to sign for his release in his current state.” Eggsy had vague recollections of being told that his ‘husband’ seemed to be suffering from synoptic disconnect and symptoms not all that dissimilar to those of a stroke, not surprising as he had been shot in the head - lucky whoever got the shot off was completely useless with firearms - and although reversible, they had not deemed him mentally fit to be released without a family member present in case something else happened to be missed, and could you please arrive at your next earliest convenience?)
After relaying the information to Merlin and finding out that Harry Hart did, in fact, have him listed as his partner on not one but all of his possible known aliases, Eggsy was on a Kingsman-sanctioned red eye flight to Kentucky to go collect the man before he could terrorize the hospital staff any further.
Touching down hours later at the nearest airstrip and hailing a cab to the correct hospital, a rather rumpled looking Eggsy Unwin stood before an equally rumpled looking receptionist, all but demanding to see his husband as soon as possible. Ignoring the wide collection of stares and expressions from bystanders, Eggsy followed a nurse through a set of double doors, past a water cooler, down exactly four hallways and up a flight of stairs before arriving at Harry’s room.
“Quiet now, honey, he’s resting.” Padding softly across the floor and taking a seat at the edge of Harry’s bed, Eggsy took his hand and let out a fraction of the emotion he had been holding back until this point, tears falling slowly down his face when he blinked. “I’ll just go get those papers for you now, give you two a moment.” With that the nurse left, and Eggsy brushed a lock of hair off of Harry’s forehead.
“My dear, what are we going to do with you? You’ve had everyone back home so worried. We’ve missed you. I’ve - I’ve missed you, terribly. It hurt to do anything without you there. I tried so hard, I didn’t stop looking for you, yet here you are, safe in the first place I should have looked.” Admittedly, Eggsy did play it up a bit for the cameras and any eavesdroppers they may have, but everything that came pouring out of his mouth was true. As he lifted Harry’s hand to place a soft kiss to the knuckles, Harry began to stir from his nap.
“My darling boy.” Harry murmured. His throat still thick from sleep. “At last. I was going to … going to tell you when I came back. We would have done it properly. Not… Not like this.”
“Shh love, it’s okay. I forgive you. We’re here now.” The nurse returned with the release forms and, after signing them all and returning them for filing, Eggsy was given the small collection of things that had been salvageable upon Harry’s arrival. As quickly as he was able, both men were soon on their way back to the airport to return home.
“Say what you will about posh wankers and their private jets, but this one having a queen size bed and fresh sheets was either a stroke of luck or Merlin being the absolute guvnor.” Eggsy said as he got Harry settled in on the mattress, despite the older man’s insistence that he was indeed fine and didn’t need any more rest. Returning from the cabinet with two glasses of water and a pitcher, Eggsy placed them on a side table and settled himself down on the other side of the bed - he hadn’t slept a wink the night before, couldn’t possibly have, not with the excitement of getting Harry home safely. “But before we both pass out on this very, very nice bed, I have a couple of questions.”
“Ask away, my dear boy; I have a feeling even my declining to answer wouldn’t have stopped you from asking anyway.” Leaning back against the pillows, Harry watched as the younger man stretched out next to him, and had a passing thought that he was very much like a cat.
“Gary DeVere? Really?” In a jump to his long-passed youth, Hart felt heat spring to his face and neck, and turned away slightly. “Merlin said it was all of 'em. Like, all of your commonly used aliases when it was applicable.”
“If it makes you uncomfortable, Eggsy, then I can change it in the system. You were never meant to find out.” Mustering up the courage to look at the other man, Harry managed to catch the fond, if cheeky, smile Eggsy was sporting, and he felt rather than watched as Eggsy ran his hand up his thigh from knee to waist before flopping over onto his back (and on top of him) and grabbing his left hand with his own to raise them in the air.
“M'I gonna get a ring then?” Eggsy asked, and Harry stilled next to him. Acting oblivious, the young man slotted their fingers together and turned to look at Harry’s face.
“I - well I suppose in our line of work when one finds someone, they had better make the best of what time they may have left.”
“But the ring, Harry. You didn’t answer the question.”
“If it’s that important to you, Eggsy, then my father’s wedding band will have to be sent to the jewellers to be resized.”
“Yes, Harry.” Eggsy replied, shifting his position so he was more comfortable. “I 'spose mum’ll be pleased, at least. What with me having a good job and us both with nice houses on top of an honest man being made of me.”
It must be said that for the duration of this conversation, Harry Hart, soon to be Mr Hart the elder, had completely forgotten about his fiancé’s mother. Unless he was truly going insane, he could actually hear Merlin’s laughter at his plight.
✿Under the cut you will find 50 names for small towns and a small tutorial on how to come up with them. Some of these are names of real small towns that I know of and just liked the names. If you have any questions feel free to ask. If you liked these, it would be wonderful if you could like/reblog! Thank you.✿
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Inspiration: Spring 2015 Street Style
Spotted on the streets on NYC, model Jessica Hart and fashion editor Barbara Martelo took a business casual, androgynous approach to grey dressing.
Model Jessica Hart at NYFW Spring 2015.
Editor Barbara Martelo at NYFW Spring 2015.
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