In true Ivy Hart fashion, when presented with answers that, in her opinion, were unsatisfactory, she decided to do her own digging.

Merlin had been curt with her before being summoned to the decanter for a briefing but it was enough to make her curious. The lackluster explanation was enough to spark her curiosity. Ivy's mind reeled with questions that needed answering. She went as far as breathing down the man's neck, demanding answers as Merlin made his way about his office collecting the appropriate files. He routinely swatted the young woman away with his clipboard-reminiscent of a frustrated pet owner spraying their petulant cat with water when misbehaving, to which Ivy did a lot-muttering she hadn't been this big a pain in his ass since she was in her early teens.

Ivy slumped down in Merlin's chair, puffing out her bottom lip, sufficiently pouting. Her interrogation would have to wait until after the briefing lest Merlin be late.

"You can't hide from me!" Ivy yelled after the man before the door clicked shut behind him.

Once she was sure Merlin wouldn't return, Ivy promptly kicked her heels up onto the desk. She crossed her ankles in a more comfortable position and didn't feel bad about shuffling the files on Merlin's desk in the process. His desk was cluttered with redacted files and broken equipment anyways. Nothing of interest or of use to her.

The harsh florescent lights burned Ivy's bloodshot eyes. She couldn't tell if the culprit was staying up too late or crying herself to sleep. Perhaps both, she couldn't be sure. She released a deep, heavy hearted sigh and scrubbed her hand down her face, realizing only afterwards, she had mascara on. Ivy couldn't bring herself to care if her face was now smudged with makeup. At least this way, she would look as tired and weary as she felt.

Ivy's thoughts veered away from her exhaustion and began mulling over the forthcoming selection process. She steepled her fingers, tapping her index fingers absentmindedly against a chapped bottom lip.

There simply wasn't enough information. She needed to know more. Who was chosen? How were the prospective candidates chosen and by whom? What were the qualifications required in order to be a candidate? Most importantly, could Ivy become a candidate?

Ivy sat up with a start. The answers she wanted were down the hall, in the dining room. And she wouldn't get any answers if she kept fucking about.

Ivy chewed on her cuticle, effectively ruining what was left of her manicure. Cuticle care was the last thing on Ivy's list of current priorities. Instead, she tried to recount how many agents were currently on sight. As far as she could recall, it was only her father, Merlin, and Arthur. The rest, either deployed or undercover, were unable to return in person for the decanter.

Blood filled Ivy's mouth. The coppery tang hit her tongue and she grimaced, stomach roiling. Pulling her hand away, she inspected her thumbnail. She'd bitten it past the quick, leaving it jagged and sensitive to the touch. At least they all matched. Ivy picked at the rest the evening prior after speaking with Merlin.

Lost in thought, Ivy picked at her nail, wincing as pain shot up her hand. A bloody, ripped nail and still, she didn't know what do. Didn't know how to acquire what she wanted-no, needed.

She couldn't hack into the dining room's audio with Merlin's software. He taught Ivy almost everything he knew. The operative word: almost. For as long as Ivy knew the man, he'd been nothing short of a technical wizard. He also, was no fool. His personal computer was likely secured with a biometric operating system, set in place after Ivy, at eighteen, attempted to doxx her abusive ex-boyfriend. Ivy now needed to be granted access to Kingsman computers upon request. Without Merlin's handprint, there was little chance of getting past the security measures without raising some sort of alarm.

There was always sneaking down the hall and eavesdropping that way. Heaven knew she'd done it enough as a child. Perhaps that's why it felt too juvenile-too easy.

Ivy didn't see any other option at the moment and she was hard pressed for time. It was unlikely she could go unnoticed by three highly trained agents but it wasn't impossible. So she would take every precaution she deemed fit.

Ivy bent down to unbuckle the clasps of her heels. The glossy hardwood was cool against her barefeet as she stepped out of her shoes. She savored the feeling. The heels were gripped tightly in her fist as she straightened. She loosed a deep, calming breath and stepped out into the hall.

The door clicked shut softly behind her. Ivy eased her way down the hall, walking on the balls of her feet, sure to avoid the panels that were likely to creak under her weight. Ivy supposed she should thank her father for the years she was forced to attend ballet lessons. The years of blood, sweat and tears, not to mention every ounce of dedication Ivy could muster had amounted to nothing since she quit after being offered a position within a company. Her father had been utterly disappointed. A waste of talent and potential, he'd said. He should be proud, Ivy thought. After several years without formal practice, she maintained the grace and form required to staying light on her feet. Proud indeed, regardless of the devious intention.

Nearing the end of the hallway, Ivy hugged the wall as she rounded the corner. To her luck, the doors to the dining room were left open. Customers downstairs seldom found themselves wandering the upstairs corridors. It's happened in the past, entitled customers who believed, because they were spending significant sums of money on bespoke wares, they should be allowed free rein. However, more often than not William was able to intervene before said customer reached the first step. And Merlin wrongfully trusted Ivy to wait in his office until the decanter had concluded. There was no reason to fear passersby listening in on what they shouldn't.

It was a gross misjudgement of how tactless Ivy Hart could really be.

Ivy pressed her back against the small alcove closest to the door. She crouched down until her knees were tucked under her chin. All she had to do now was listen.

"...was investigating a group of mercenaries who were experimenting with biological weaponry." It was Arthur that spoke, likely to Ivy's father.

"Glasses, gentlemen, please."

Ivy frowned at this. The tortoise shell glasses her father wore were far more than a fashion statement but state of the art technology. The spectacles were issued to each and every Kingsman agent. They operated through augmented reality-creating a composite view of digital imaging alongside the wearer's view of the natural world. A design improved upon by Merlin using his predecessor's design.

With the glasses, agents could discretely view building layouts, transmit messages, read through dossiers, and no one would be the wiser. With Merlin's improvements, the glasses were equipped to record visuals and audio for hours at a time. Memories when recalled upon were fickle, biased.

Without a pair, Ivy was still in the dark. She suppressed a frustrated groan.

"Uganda, 2012." Merlin said, pausing momentarily, giving his colleagues a chance to examine the photos currently displayed. Ivy wished she could see them, too. "Synthetic cathinones. They put it in the water supply of a guerrilla army base."

Ivy's stomach turned leaden. The brunette didn't require the Kingsman issued spectacles to imagine the carnage inflicted due to the cathinones. In her junior year at St. Andrews, Ivy had the pleasure of having a passionate, yet often times, eccentric professor. A professor who would often go on tangents, using an entire lecture period to explain chemical compounds to make illicit drugs. Somewhere, Ivy still had her notebook with written directions to make volatile fire bombs. For safe keeping of course.

From what Ivy could recall, synthetic cathinones were highly addictive, as most synthetic drugs were. Having the same effects to the brain as cocaine only it's ten times stronger, cheaper, and as easily available. Her professor stressed how little was still unknown about the psychoactive substance other than lowered inhibitions, hallucinations, and volatile behaviours.

Merlin confirmed as much. "Rage, cannibalism, multiple fatalities."

"Chechnya, 2013." Merlin's lilting Scottish accent continued. If he was at all perturbed, it didn't show. "Insurgents turned on one another. Indisputably, the work of our mercenaries, but no trace of any chemicals of any kind."

It was a rather sudden change of approach. Chemical weaponry to... what? Brute force? Unless the same effects of the cathinones were caused by neurological disruption. How, Ivy was unsure but it didn't explain any or all relation to James' death.

"So what happened to Lancelot?" Her father asked.

Ivy could hear the shift of the images being switched as Merlin continued his debrief. "He tracked them to this property in Argentina. While he had them under surveillance, he became aware they'd effected a kidnapping. So he executed a solo rescue mission, which failed."

A beat of silence, then, "This is his last transmission."

More information Ivy couldn't have access to. She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. None of this made any sense nor would it with the fragmented pieces of information she'd been given.

The volley of questions continued. Merlin answered dutifully and Ivy listened though, somewhat resigned. She did make a mental note to research this Gaia theory more when she had free time, though.

"But what's curious," Merlin mused. "is he's not actually missing."

Ivy's spine stiffened, her interest renewed. She didn't know who this 'he' was. Only that James had died trying to rescue him. Had he, James, died in vain in attempting to save a civilian who'd been released? Again, for what purpose, she didn't know. More questions. It seemed, the ever growing list of questions clouding Ivy's mind would not be answered anytime soon. She suppressed a sigh, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes, contacts burning. Her current frustration did little to help the dull migraine blossoming behind her eyes, adding to her agitation considerably.

"And don't forget your membership proposal." Ivy startled at Arthur's crackling timbre. He'd remained quiet for much of the meeting, Ivy almost forgot Kingsman's leader was even been present. "Try picking a more suitable candidate this time."

"Seventeen years and still…" He father scoffed. "Evolving with the times remains an entirely foreign concept. Need I remind you, I wouldn't be here if it were for that young man? He was as much Kingsman material as any of them. More so."

"But he wasn't exactly one of us, was he?" Arthur remarked. It was then, Ivy knew what was required of a suitable candidate in Arthur's eyes. Middle aged aristos coming from old money, perhaps even settling on their sons and nephews, whose only source of pride lay between their legs. "Let's face it, Galahad. You're little experiment failed."

Her father scoffed, legs of his chair scraped along the wood floor as he pushed to his feet. "With respect, Arthur, you're a snob."

Ivy's jaw dropped. At least, she was not the only person on the receiving end of Harry Hart's sour mood.

"'With respect'?" Arthur intoned, equally indignant.

"The world is changing" Her father said it as if in the past, he'd reminded his superior of this concept many a time.

It wasn't the information Ivy hoped to glean from this meeting but it gave her a glimmer of hope that she, as a woman, still had a chance. For now that was enough.

"There's a reason why aristocrats developed weak chins." Her father said in way of farewell with no indication he would heed Arthur's warnings.

Ivy's heart skipped a beat. Her father's voice was closer than it was a moment ago. She pressed her back against the wall even harder, hoping to all hell her father didn't see her. He turned on his heel, walking towards the staircase leading back to the shop and away from Ivy. The tension in Ivy's shoulders eased, slumping forward.

"Ivy, if you could follow me." Her father said without looking over his shoulder. "And please try not to dawdle."

She stilled, horrified. Ivy didn't dare deny her presence, no sense in making her reprimand any worse than it needed to be. Instead, she simply rose to her feet and followed after her father, chin held high and barefeet padding softly against the wood floor.

He said nothing as he made his way down the stairs. His disappointment a palpable thing. If Ivy had to guess, he was remaining quite to impress upon his daughter how angry he truly was. Her father was a man of perfectly calculated words, seldom losing his temper. And Ivy, unable to leave things be, cleared her throat. "So what gave me away?"

Her father tsked in disapproval, flexing his fingers as if to resist the urge to pinch his brow in frustration. A habit he often exhibited when conversing with his only child. "Your perfume."

Ivy paused, raising a brow. She stopped, sniffing her coat. Coffee beans, jasmine, and scent wasn't offensively strong, in fact the scent was rather stale, remnants lingering from several evenings ago. It was a small detail. One easily overlooked. "Nice catch."

"I believe I asked you to return to headquarters?"

"Well, yeah." Ivy fumbled. "It was a request I elected to... ignore."

"Honestly Ivy can't you do anything I ask of you?"

"Look, I'm sorry." Ivy started. "I just... I heard about the selection process now that Lancelot's position is open and I got excited."

Unimpressed, Harry rose a sardonic brow.

"So how soon does your proposal need to be sent off?"

Ivy's father glanced over his shoulder. His face was set with careful contemplation. Ivy was rather familiar with this look, not just from her father but all the spies in her life. He was gauging how much could be said in an open place such as the tailor shop without worrying about being overheard. William was no longer behind the desk, off tending to a customer no doubt.

Turning back to face Ivy, her father said, "Tomorrow, no later than twenty-one hundred hours."

"Should I go report to headquarters now or would that come across as too eager?" A light, joking smile crossing Ivy's face, cheeks dimpling.

"Pardon?" Genuine confusion etching her father's face.

"Should I go to headquarters now to report... as your candidate?" Her grip tightened on her heels, palms growing clammy. Suddenly feeling nervous.

Why should she be, though? Her father would pick her...right?

"I haven't proposed you."

"At least not officially." Ivy pressed.

"Nor do I intend to." The finality in his tone apparent.

Ivy licked her lips, deciding to press the matter further. "And may I ask why? Kingsman doesn't seem the sort to discount nepotism."

"Ivy, this is not a matter of nepotism…-"

"Then what?" Ivy interrupted, voice rising an octave, garnering the attention of an elderly man debating fabric samples. She smiled tightly at the man and attempted to keep a level tone. "It's not like you even know anyone else to ask."

In that moment, Ivy was struck with a horrible realization. "Unless, you don't think I'm capable?"

Her father remained silent, simply clasping his hands behind his back. It was all the answer Ivy needed.

"You really think that little of my ability?" She gritted out.

"Now Ivy-" Her father started.

"No!" Ivy exclaimed. "I have a degree in forensic science and a minor in political science. In what world am I not considered a qualified candidate?"

Internally, Ivy was seething. She was clinging to a single thread of whatever restraint remained that prevented her from exploding here, in the middle of the shop, but only barely.

Ivy's father sighed, adjusting his spectacles. "I'm well aware of your academic accomplishments. I did, as you may recall, pay for your education."

"Okay so then…" Ivy trailed off, her brows furrowing in thought. She licked her lips hesitantly. Ivy's voice lowered, barely above a whisper. "Is... is it because of mum?"

Ivy's late mother was a sore subject for the pair. They seldom brought her up in conversation and over time, turning the very utterance of her name into something taboo. It was her mother's death that forced Ivy into Kingsman's care. It was a witness protect of sorts where Ivy and her father needn't fear for her safety. She'd gone from childish naivete to becoming a vulnerability, a liability even. She'd seen his face after all, and agents never found the man after her father took a brief leave of absence.

Perhaps, after all these years Ivy's father was still worried for her safety.

Ivy herself found her heart skipping a beat when out in the city at night, believing she'd caught a glimpse of the man that murdered her mother. It never was, of course. It always was a man ducking into a bar for a night out with his friends or out on a stroll, on date even. It was always enough to sap the enjoyment from Ivy, spoiling her evening. She could understand if her father was still afraid for her safety. There were nights Ivy had to ring up Merlin just to talk to until she made it home safe for the evening or until the panicked, hitched breathing soothed.

This appeared to be the wrong approach. Something akin to anger flickered in her father's honey brown eyes. Habitually, he spun the gold band on his fourth finger of his left hand. He only did such when thinking of his late wife, when he missed her most. Ivy kept her eyes trained on her father's face, ignoring the telling idiosyncrasy.

"No, Ivy my decision has nothing to do with your mother." He bit out, sharply.

"Then truly, what is the real reason?" Ivy nearly pleaded.

"Truly?" Her father asked, raising a single brow.

Ivy nodded.

"Your academic achievements mark you as a highly desireable and sought after candidate." Ivy smiled despite her confusion. "Even your prior knowledge of the organization has led you down a path to acquire a skill set most agents twice your age seldom possess let alone master while in training."

"These are all attractive qualities to possess." Her father continued. "However, as you have demonstrated time and time again, you refuse to follow direction, have a blatant disregard to rules and authority of any kind."

Ivy opened her mouth to interject but a withering look from her father had her promptly biting down on her tongue. Likely if she had spoken up, challenged her father, she'd only be proving his opinion of her correct.

"You have a brilliant mind, Ivy and if you would only choose to apply yourself you could accomplish many great things with Kingsman or other ventures but you have a capricious nature."

Her father paused as if challenging her to prove him wrong, his evaluation of her character wrong. Ivy remained silent. He had more biting words for her, she knew it.

"As a result of this, you frequently pick up new hobbies and interests, grow bored or restless perhaps, heavens if I know, and then you give up. You lose interest far too quickly. It's short of a miracle you even graduated on time." That stung. Deep. "I'm sorry but you aren't a dependable candidate and I can't trust you'll take the process seriously."

It would have hurt less if he'd struck her. Verbal or otherwise, it was a painful blow. One she couldn't object to. A physical assault perhaps, but this? This was an assault against her character. Ivy's knees buckled as she stepped back, eyes stinging. He'd thoroughly eviscerated her.

"I'd say I would have you to thank but we both know you had no hand in my upbringing." Ivy hissed.

Her father sighed heavily as he removed his spectacles. Suddenly he looked exhausted, his face taut.

Ivy turned, disappearing up the stairs before her father could wound her further. Fat, hot tears streamed down her cheeks, clouding her vision. Viciously, Ivy wiped them away.

Her tears were quickly replaced with a cold, bitter rage as she stormed into Merlin's office. Ivy's breath came out in ragged huffs as she seethed.

"Your mascara is running." It was the only indication the Scot had noticed her tear-streaked face. He barely glanced up in her general direction before returning his attention towards a pair of spectacles hooked up to various cords and wires as he transferred the visual data onto his computer. Ivy didn't need to look to know they were James'-Lancelot's.

"Fuck off, Fergus." Ivy snarled, throwing her shoes atop her rucksack with more force than necessary.

Merlin snorted. "You're losing your edge, Ivy. You've used Fergus twice now."

Ivy rolled her eyes. The pads of her feet slapped against the floor as she paced. "It's not my fault you look like a Fergus. I think it's something about your face."

He paused, looking up from his work, glasses resting low on his nose. "I'll try not to take offense to that. In the meantime, should I dust off your Daughter of the Year award?"

Ivy's eyes narrowed into slits as she glared at Merlin. He remained uncowed, merely blinking. A mischievous glint glittering in his hazel eyes.

"One of these days I'm going to slip something into your tea and there won't be a bloody thing you can do about it." She warned, leaning against the corner of his desk. They both knew it was an empty threat. One of many. Ivy throwing them at the older man in front of her whenever she was in a particularly foul mood.

Merlin's shoulders shook with lilting laughter. The cheerful cadence brought a small smile to Ivy's lips. "Always a delight."

"It's a part of my charm." She shrugged. Her raged subdued into a dull thrum.

"Indeed." Merlin's smile faded but the warmth in his eyes remained, even if they were lined with exhaustion. "Where did your travels take you this time?"

"Paris."

"Again?"

Ivy avoided his gaze and shrugged her shoulder, idly twirling a pen between her fingers. "Good place to get lost I suppose."

"Would it be to presumptuous to ask where my souvenir is?"

Prick.

"Who said I got you anything, you greedy bastard?" Ivy questioned.

Merlin simply rose a brow. A slow smile crept along Ivy's face, deep dimples creasing her cheeks. She straightened, turning to retrieve her spoils from her bag. "Here, you rapacious beast."

Nimbly, Merlin unwrapped the brown wrapping paper. It was miniature sculpture of Venus of Milo. Ivy purchased the sculpture from a street vendor near the Louvre. The purchase influenced by the sculpture's ghastly shade of lime green. It was atrocious but she loved it all the same. It was kitschy and gaudy-something Ivy knew Merlin would appreciate. From the looks of it, he did.

"Merry happy." Ivy hummed with a wave of her hand, always glad to find reasons to spoil her loved ones.

Merlin examined the neon monstrosity, turning it in his hands. "It's hideous."

"So it'll match the decor then, yes?"

He pointed a finger at Ivy warningly. "Easy."

She stuck her tongue out at him and batted his hand away when he tried to yank on it. Ivy turned her attention to her hands. Another package cradled in them, turning it over in her hands anxiously. She bit her lip before handing it over to Merlin. "Can you give this to him, the next time you see him?"

He took the gift with little hesitation but said, "You could always give it to him yourself."

"No, I couldn't." She picked at her cuticles again, wincing as she did.

Ivy didn't want to face her father, didn't care if it made her a coward. She sat quietly on the edge of Merlin's desk with one leg tucked under her, the other swinging to and fro. She was too quiet even for her.

Merlin eyed her warily while he worked. He tried coaxing her into talking, into anything that would get her out of her thoughts before she fell in too deep. For the most part, she let him. Ivy let him pull her through her thoughts until she was wading in them, instead of drowning.

The office was mostly silent, save for the soft clacking of keys as Merlin typed up a report. Ivy had turned her back to Merlin at some point and he, as he typed, kept shooting worried looks her way.

"Was he right?" Ivy finally spoke, voice hoarse. "About me. Do you think I'm... 'capricious'?"

The young girl turned, looking over she shoulder. Her eyes watery and bloodshot. Ivy had never voiced the insecurity aloud, but it wasn't hard to guess: She desperately sought her father's approval, his affection like a stranded man in a desert craved an oasis. And her father's words cut deeper than she'd ever let on.

Merlin sighed, removing his glasses and scrubbed a hand down his face. His stare was gentle as Ivy's eyes lined with tears. He wasn't the coddling type. Never had been. Ivy knew this and asked anyway, knowing he'd tell her the truth however painful.

"In some regards, yes." Ivy's shoulders slumped, looking even more miserable. "You spread yourself thin by trying to do too much at once."

"So you think I should just... give up?" Ivy mumbled. "He won't even consider proposing me."

"Then, get another agent to." Merlin said simply.

Ivy blinked. She hadn't considered she could be proposed by another agent. Of course she hadn't. Ivy was focused on her father's scorn. She'd spiralled into her own dark thoughts, fixating on all the things her father said she couldn't do instead of all the things she could.

"Can-could you…?" Ivy asked, words tumbling past her lips before she could really form the question they both knew she'd ask.

Merlin shook his head. "Active agent only."

Ivy nodded with a frown. After a severe injury Merlin refused to discuss, he'd resolved himself to desk duty. For a moment, she pitied him. The pity was gone as quickly as it had come on. For Merlin would throttle her for it.

"But," Merlin started, typing something into the computer. "So far only two agents have submitted their proposal. If you can get into contact with the others…"

Ivy didn't require further prompting. The mental cogs already turning, plans falling into place. She quickly gathered her belongings, shoved her feet back into her heels so she could make it back to headquarters at a reasonable hour. Merlin smiled faintly as the light winked back into her brown eyes. "Though you may want to shower before harassing the agents."

She whipped her head around, glaring. "Are you saying I stink?"

Merlin simply returned his attention fully to his work, chuckling as Ivy made a vulgar gesture in parting.

Ivy had to stop herself from running down the hall and into the dressing room that lead to Kingsman's private underground like an overeager child. She hated to agree but a shower wouldn't hurt. Dry shampoo and body wipes only went so far in terms of feeling clean.

Besides, Ivy had an impression to make.

Hi, wow long time no see. I really wish I had an excuse for disappearing for two years but I don't? The new Kingsman trailer kinda kicked my ass back into writing. So please do enjoy this new chapter. I know I had a blast writing it. I'm already working on the next chapter so no need to fear another two years lol.

Thank you to anyone that has reviewed this, It does mean a lot and I love hearing your thoughts. Let me know what you think!