Title: Speak Now
Fandom: Kingsman
Rating: T
Length: 2,024
Pairing: Eggsy Unwin/Harry Hart
Content notes: none
Author notes: Please excuse my total ignorance of how the Royal Marines work.
Summary: Eggsy's a Royal Marines recruit, Harry's not actually an accountant, and 28 weeks is a long time to talk to someone without ever seeing their face. Pre-movie canon divergence AU.

As long as it's not during training, meals, or lights out, recruits are allowed to call home. And after long days in and out with the same group of guys, it's good to hear a different voice. The thing is, Eggsy doesn't gave many people to call. He's tried his mates a couple times, but they don't appreciate long conversations on the phone much. Eggsy'd go to jail for any of them, and get any of them out, but they're not the types for meaningful conversations, himself included. Especially when there's no alcohol involved.

"Should've gotten a girlfriend, first," Danny tells him from the next bed over. "Mine likes the talking thing. Says I talk to her more now than ever in person."

"Careful, or she'll expect you to keep it up when you get back," Eggsy says, grinning.

Danny looks a bit horrified, but Eggsy's distracted by the familiar ring of his cell phone.

Once again, his mum's calling. Eggsy doesn't want to pick up, but it'll be worse if he doesn't.

"I don't know what to do anymore," his mum tells him, utterly distraught. It's the stress and Eggsy being gone and Dean and-- She just wants him to come back. Eggsy's never been starved for her attention, not really, but he's had more of it in the time he's been in basic than in his entire life.

Eggsy feels like the worst son possible.

After he hangs up, he sits on his bed, head on his hands as he massages his temples and tries to think. Fuck, he doesn't want to go home. He can't afford his own place and he can't stand Dean. The last four weeks have been the best respite from his mum's boyfriend and his shitty friends. Eggsy'd been thinking he should've joined up ages ago. But far away, back in London, his mum's going mad with worry, and it's all his fault. He can't even promise her he won't die, because it's pointless. They both remember finding out his dad will never come home.

He's about to toss his phone in his bedside drawer and go burn off the anger at the gym--Eggsy's bone-tired from training, but there's no point in going to sleep when he's so angry at life--when he sees the familiar medal. It's tucked neatly between paperclipped documents and a couple spare pens, still on the chain he can't wear during training.

On the flipside is a phone number that Eggsy's never called: 12-19-97. The digits don't even make a proper number, too short and too strange, but his mum had always told him to call if he needed help. And this time, like all the other times, Eggsy can't say he's in something he can't get out of. It's not hard to quit basic training; a quarter of his group has already washed out, and it's only been four weeks. Hell, most people probably expect him to. He could quit, come home, and his mum will be alright again. Or as alright as she ever is, after his dad's death.

Eggsy doesn't need to use his phone call on something so stupid. He's fucked up so much of his life; he shouldn't ruin this one get-out-of-jail card he has.

Instead of being smart, he thinks of his mum, he thinks of himself, and he places the call.

It doesn't go anywhere. All he gets is a thank you for his call after he stutters out a half-forgotten phrase.

It figures, really.

.

A couple days later, Eggsy's just climbing into bed after a long day when his phone begins to vibrate. The number on the screen isn't one of his contacts, so for a bit he thinks about just not picking it up.

"Mr. Unwin," the caller says. It's a man, all posh-sounding. "I'm at a loss to what kind of help you need, exactly. Your basic scores are top-notch--congratulations--and your discipline could use some work, but you're not exactly getting kicked out over it."

Eggsy can't remember when it was during the man's speech that his jaw unhinged, but he closes it before saying, "Bruv, you stalking me or something?"

"Hardly. That would be an utterly wasteful use of my time. I had my--secretary do it."

In the background, there's a shuffling sound, and another man's voice that's mighty angry. "Don't think your secretary appreciates being called that."

Coughing, the man says, "Presumably not. Now, as I was saying, I can't help you if you don't tell me what you need help with."

"I don't think you gave me the chance to explain," Eggsy says, "Not with all the stalking and all. Bit much, innit? Could've told you everything myself, saved you the trouble."

"I couldn't deny myself the thorough inspection of your recent history. I've had someone fix your tax filing, as well, as you seem to be completely unaware of the fact that you really must fill out the applicable sheets."

"Fuck you," Eggsy replies, without any heat. It's his usual response to crazy situations, and this is the weirdest he's been in years.

"Your return should be nearly fifty percent higher."

"I'd say thanks, but it's not like I asked you to creep through my statements. Wait, did you check my mum's, too?"

"Unlike you, she's an intelligent woman who can fill out forms."

"Good," Eggsy says. Then, "Wait, that wasn't enough helping for you?"

"Whatever problem you're having, it isn't reflected on the information I have on you. That worries me, Eggsy."

"Shit, you don't have to be. I just-- It's my mum, that's all."

"She's not sick."

"Naw. She's fine. Healthy as a tank, except for a bit of drinking and smoking." Eggsy can't help but run his hand through his hair as he thinks about the man on the line. The man that's offering to help him without even knowing what Eggsy needs him to do. But as much as Eggsy needs some help, actually asking for it feels like tearing his intestines up out through his throat. There isn't anything Eggsy'd rather be doing less. As weird as the stalking thing was, he'd rather the man on the phone had been able to guess what was wrong from it.

"Tell me," the man says, his voice firm. He sounds a bit like one of Eggsy's primary school teachers, except none of them had such a nice voice.

"She doesn't like me being in the military much, alright? And that's-- that's not uncommon or something. But she's heartbroken and she calls me everyday and I think I'm going to just drop out the next time she calls. And I don't want to." The last is said with an awful kind of honesty. He's an adult, the big bad world doesn't care about his wants, but he just needs this to work out. He doesn't want to go back to his life.

"Eggsy, I don't..."

"Please."

Sighing, the man says, "I'll see what I can do."

"Really?"

"Yes, Eggsy."

"You're not bad then, for a stalker."

"Goodbye."

"Wait-- what's your name?"

"Harry Hart," the man says, and the phone clicks off.

.

Two days later, Eggsy's on the verge of pulling out. His mum's called seven times, left five voicemails, and her voice has gone soft and weak and hopeless each time. His mates are pretty convinced that it's his secret girlfriend not his mum calling whenever Michelle's name pops up on his phone screen.

But Harry gave him word that he'd try, and Eggsy wants to have trust in someone.

He's exhausted as he answers his phone without checking the name. Maybe his mum won't notice if he falls asleep on her.

"'Lo?"

"Eggsy," Harry says, and it's enough for Eggsy to drag himself into a semblance of alertness. Not completely, because complete physical exhaustion is a bit hard to counter, but enough. "Is this a bad time?"

"There's never a great time in basic," Eggsy tells him. "So, uh, about my mum? I just wanted to say, I know there's not much you can do. So it's alright if you--"

Harry coughs. "I put her on a cruise."

"You what?" Not that his mum wouldn't love it, but, well, a cruise?

"She filled out an application for a cruise spot lottery months ago. I've sent a colleague of mine on the same boat. She'll be able to assess the situation better than I could from here. In the meantime, Dean has been offered a promotion to the States, and when she returns from the cruise, Michelle will have the option of enrolling in a state-sponsored alcoholism rehabilitation program that will also work on elevating her circumstances."

When he was a kid, Eggsy was an awful liar. He's still not all that great now, but Harry, he's a master. There's nothing in his voice that points to the rehab being anything other than state-sponsored or the fact that Michelle's never been one to put stock to free lotteries. And what kind of colleague agrees to go stalk a woman on a cruise?

"Who are you?" Eggsy asks.

"I knew your father. He saved my life. I owe your family something more than a suitcase filled with cash," Harry says, and tells him that his father was very brave. He manages to talk for another five minutes without saying a single detail about who he is, how Lee knew him, how exactly Lee managed to say his life. Eggsy's weirdly charmed.

"But what's your occupation? What do you do?"

"I have a minor governmental position," Harry replies, sending Eggsy laughing and his bunkmate ordering him to shut up and let him read.

"You're a fucking liar," Eggsy says, completely amused. "No, say that again."

Harry sighs. "I really do work at a minor government office, in the tax department."

"Are you saying you're an accountant, too?"

"It's a perfectly good career choice," Harry replies, and Eggsy can hear his irritation clear as day. Eggsy wonders if Harry looks as hot as he sounds when he's all riled up. He's not supposed to think about that, but he still does.

"It's just not yours," Eggsy tells him. He's not sure exactly what the man does; hell, he's never even met Harry face to face, not counting that time when he was four years old. And he might've been a cute kid, but his memory of that evening was useless. All he remembered was a man in glasses who gave him a cool new toy. He'd looked him up, but Harry Hart had no Facebook profile, no LinkedIn presence, no personal website or mention on anyone else's website. "D'you work for the military?"

"No."

"Is that why you're so cloak and dagger? You don't want any favoritism thing coming up?"

"No, Eggsy. I don't work for the military. I--" There's a loud crash somewhere on Harry's end. Whatever Harry was going to say before, it ends up being, "I have to go."

There's enough regret in Harry's tone that Eggsy feels comfortable enough to say, "Call me back when you can? And-- thank you, really."

"Of course, Eggsy," Harry replies, so very warmly.

.

And when months of phone calls later, a man in a bespoke suit shows up at the Kings Squad pass-out parade, Eggsy thinks, definitely not an accountant. But even if Harry is, Eggsy's keeping him, accounting and all.

When he can finally step out of formation and push through the rest of his newly Royal Marine mates, Eggsy hugs his mum first, and then his mum's new possibly-probably-a-spy friend. Amelia's a lot younger than his mum, but they've been inseparable ever since the cruise. ("She wasn't supposed to stay after the assignment," Harry had told him, completely bemusedly, after the two woman got off the cruise together and promptly refused to break their friendship. Eggsy'd replied with, "We Unwins are good at making friends.")

"Congratulations, Eggsy," Harry says, and his voice sounds better, richer in real life.

"I had some pretty good incentive," Eggsy replies. He takes Harry's arm, and then Michelle's, and they head out together.