It had been a long day. A long month really, Harry had to correct his inner thoughts as he approached the Kingsman tailor shop front. A mission in Siberia had required the whole of his attention for the last several weeks and he could not recall a time where he had been more relieved to be home on British soil. It had not been an especially arduous job; more time consuming than anything. The target had a fair bit of necessary information and was not willing to give it up easily. Harry had had to infiltrate the man's inner workings through acquaintances and partners and the like before finally getting him alone. Luckily, it had not been one of the cases that ended with blood on his suit since at the sight of a pistol aimed at his face, the man had been quick to give up all the intelligence he had which, if left in his hands, could have lead to a truly abysmal year for Galahad and Siberia.

Yes, he was quite delighted to be home, but as he entered the shop and was was greeted by Merlin looking even more somber than usual, he couldn't help feeling his homecoming was not well timed. Usually a kindly old gentlemen by the name of Andrew stood in that particular spot, ready to fit and tailor anyone that came in as well as to inform knights where they were needed. Instead today the bald, bespectacled man approached, manila file already outstretched towards the returning agent.

"Lancelot's dead."

The news sent Harry's heart into his stomach, not only because it had been seventeen years since they lost an agent, but also because he had grown quite fond of the newest Lancelot in that time. He took the file as Merlin fell into step beside him, the two men heading towards the backdoor that lead to the 'dining room'. During the very short walk, Harry skimmed through the paperwork from Lancelot's last, failed mission.

"He was taken out by someone who knew he was working for an agency. Targeted." Merlin pushed open the dining room door, stepping aside to let Harry pass through first, nose still buried in the file.

"How do you know?"

"Because we have reports of agents from the CIA, KGB, NDS*, and Korea all turning up dead." Harry looked up from the last picture Lancelot's glasses had registered to find Arthur sitting at the head of the table, the tell-tale tumbler of scotch already ready for them. "Someone's picking off special agents."

"But who?" Harry asked, taking his seat at Chester King's literal right hand as Merlin exited with a short nod, pulling the door closed behind him.

"Who knows?" Arthur sighed, aged face creased with worry. He was getting old. "Glasses." Galahad took his special frames from his inner pocket and dawned them, the other knights coming into digital view, all seated at the table from around the world. Lancelot's empty chair glared at them all. "It's been seventeen years since we've had to open this bottle, and I suppose that's something to be grateful for. Lancelot was a gentlemen through and through; a true Kingsman. He will be missed." They each and all inclined their heads respectively before drinking from their crystal glasses.

"He'll need to be replaced," Gawain stated matter-of-factly, looking around the table to make sure his fellows knights nodded, however reluctantly, in agreement.

"He's not even cold in the ground," Galahad huffed, frankly appalled at how quickly the other Kingsmen were prepared to tip a glass and move on. A comrade had fallen, and call him old fashioned, but Harry felt that should mean something more than the immediate need of a replacement.

"He's not in the ground at all," Arthur cut in before a quarrel could erupt, "We're having trouble extraditing his body from the location of his last mission. And I'll be damned if we start looking at replacements before he gets a proper burial." All but Harry looked down shamefully at this. "Besides," here the head of their agency turned to his most trusted agent, "Galahad needs a rest."

"Arthur, I'm-"

"Just returning from a month long mission," Arthur interrupted, a proud but still stern look coming to his eyes. "I only regret it could not be to your regular accommodations."

Harry frowned, recalling how his comfortable and well furnished flat had been the target of a terrorist with a grudge. He had of course escaped the attack unscathed, but he could not say the same for his home. Immeasurable damage to the foundation and pipe system. There was no telling how long it would take to repair, only because it had to seem to the outside world, that it was being fixed on a tailor's income. He had been staying in a less hospitable setting ever since. Tailor's income and all.

"It's quite alright."

"Very well," Arthur went on, drawing the meeting to a close. "Galahad is officially on leave for the next week. No one is to look into recruits for Lancelot's position until his body's returned to his family; I do, however, want someone to look into who's killing all these agents."

"Yes, Arthur," they all chimed, the sit-down officially over as one by one they removed their glasses. At last it was just Harry and Chester actually sitting in the room again. The older man looked at his best agent. "Go home, Harry," he said lightly, "Get some rest."

Buttoning his suit jacket as he stood, Harry gave a respectful nod of the head. "Arthur."

It had been a long day. A long life really, Eggsy Unwin had to correct his inner thoughts as he sat on the balcony outside the shitty flat he shared with his mother, half-sister, step-father and as of late said step-father's numb-skull lackey. It was late in the day at this point, and Eggsy was smoking a fag he'd nicked from Dean's nightstand. He figured the man should be thanking him, the amount he smoked no doubt rushing him to death faster than any of the shady activities he got up to when Michelle wasn't about.

Eggsy hated Dean. Had hated him ever since his mum had met him and even more so when they decided to shack up and worse, get married. The man was complete shite in Eggsy's opinion, and though he only had faint memories of his late biological father, he deduced his mother had taken a serious step down in partners. The only good thing Dean had ever given him was his baby sister, Abigail. She was honestly the only reason Eggsy bothered to stay around anymore because if he didn't look out for her no one would. He had honestly been shocked this morning when his mum had told him she was taking the little girl to the park to 'get some fresh air'.

Her plans made more sense when a few minutes after their departure, a car pulled up and two people stepped out. One was a black man dressed in a fine suit but with a baseball cap sitting crookedly on his head. He'd winked at Eggsy, large teeth flashing as he approached and knocked on their door. The woman with him was drop dead gorgeous but clearly had a stick up her arse since when Eggsy flew a wink her way she rolled her large brown eyes, paying him no heed. Her floor length dress dragged over his finger tips as she followed the black man through the door Dean had practically ripped off its hinges to let them in. He'd thrown Eggsy a glare, silently warning his to stay outside and not draw attention to himself before slamming the door shut again.

That had been hours ago though, and the two mystery people still hadn't exited the flat. The last Unwin had gotten tired of waiting after only twenty minutes, but with nowhere extremely pressing to go he continued to sit. It pissed him off that he couldn't go and have a sit in his own place, but the bruise quickly blackening on his temple from this morning gave proof to just how much Dean hated it when he didn't listen. The area hurt now; it was hot like someone was holding an iron there. Eggsy ignored it in favor of the fag and a bit of fresh air of his own.

He was pulled from his frankly depressing thoughts as he noticed someone coming up the walkway. Tipping the rim of his hat back, he saw it was the posh man that had moved in to the flat that shared a wall with them a few months ago. He'd only bothered to introduce himself once, and then had kept well too himself anytime there after. Eggsy found it only a little odd since he seemed like a well-to-do sort of bloke and he knew he could hear the trouble that went on next door through the thin wall. If he had any suspicions of abuse, he kept them quiet; at least, no police had come pounding on the door to take the children away yet.

Despite what could be considered his cold indifference to his young neighbor's plight, Eggsy always found himself trying to turn the man's head. He was no stranger to luring people in and he knew everyone loved a bit of rough which was exactly what he was. As the man, Harry, approached now, Eggsy did a half-assed job of concealing his cigarette and leaned back on his palms, torso stretched out enough that a slice of skin peeked out at the bottom of his shirt.

"Hey," he greeted casually, letting his eyes follow the departing taxi that had dropped his neighbor off rather than his neighbor's backside as he passed.

"Hello." The man's tone was polite yet distant. Formal yet brisk. Eggsy imagined making it sound not quite so cold, but rather hot and bothered. He imagined the man panting wantonly and couldn't let him go that easily.

"You've been gone a while."

It was true, Eggsy hadn't seen the guy around in weeks when right after moving in he had seen him leave the place for a jog each morning. That was when he had really taken an interest because not many men of whatever his age was tended to keep themselves so fit. After only a few days of not seeing him, Eggsy deduced he was either dead or on vacation somewhere. He'd been tempted to brake into his flat, gather some intelligence on him, but then decided that would be cheating and he wanted to get Harry Hart into bed the good old fashioned way.

"I had a business trip," the older man informed, surprisingly having stopped on his way to his door to converse.

"What's your business?"

"I'm a tailor."

"Lot of business trips in that line of work is there?" He tilted his head, teeth bared in a small grin. He was of course attempting to be coy but not in an intimidating fashion. Make it seem like you were trying to hard and you'd never get a bloke to bed. "It take you on long trips often?"

His flirtations were wasted, however, since Harry appeared to have just noticed something very interesting on his face. As he squinted at the younger man, Eggsy realized he was studying his bruise and turned away, jaw flexing with concealed embarrassment.

"What happened to your face?"

Eggsy frowned at the man because he knew perfectly well what had happened. He wasn't trying to come off as some punk kid though and so decided to play into the roll all adults wanted kids to play into in this situation. At least that's what he told himself.

"Took a bit of a tumble," he lied, retrieving the fag from it's poor excuse for a hiding place near his thigh to take a drag. Harry still lingered, half turned towards his door and half turned towards his neighbor.

"Why did you try to hide the cigarette?"

Eggsy squinted up at the man, finding it a kind of strange question. He had after all just poorly covered up for the fact that his caregiver was abusing him. When the gentleman's face gave nothing away he shrugged, flicking ash out into the open air.

"I've got enough problems without Dean bein' up my arse for pilferin' cigs from him."

The man in the perfectly pressed suit nodded, taking his leave then and leaving Eggsy staring after him. When the blue door to his flat closed, the one to Eggsy's opened and he rushed to toss the cigarette down into the yards below. The woman from earlier stepped out, the no doubt break-neck high heels she was wearing under her dress clicking loudly on the concrete. Dean followed, face looking strained and haggered, not at all the tough persona he put on when he was knocking Eggsy around. The black man came last, head tilted low and murmuring as he appeared to be on a phone call. He walked a little ways up the path while the woman rested a hand on Dean's collar. He flinched.

"Listen," she began, voice cool and calculated, "All we're saying is that when we gave you the product, it tested 100% pure." Her voice was thick, accented. "Now, picking it up, it tests 90% pure. So it's clear to us that somewhere between then and now, a cut was taken."

"Gazelle, I would never never never, take a cut," Dean insisted, not noticing Eggsy hunched over by the railing trying to remain as small as possible, "I'm a holder, I just hold the dope! I don't look at it, smell it, or even touch it!"

Eggsy knew that to be total bullshit and apparently so did this Gazelle because she sighed woefully, pouting at the sweating man before her. Then with a swish of her hips she was approaching the black man, ignoring Dean's tiny calls of protest. She interrupted his phone call, whispering into his ear with the ease and familiarity of someone that may or may not have seen the guy naked. As he turned his large, lens covered eyes to Dean, Eggsy didn't see the appeal.

"Dean," he said, arms spread wide once he'd stashed his cell away and was approaching the other man, "I know I can trust you, you've been with me for years!" Eggsy noticed his heavy lisp as he threw an arm over Dean's shoulder. The mustachioed man quaked under it. "I'm not saying you cut the dope." The good-natuted, friendly air left his voice and the smile faded. "But you know who did. And you're gonna have their name for me by noon tomorrow." Here he turned to the woman, wordlessly looping her in to the conversation. "Sharp."

"Y-Yes,Valentine," he stammered, a mere puddle of the man Eggsy knew, "Whatever you say."

"Good!" With that final word, the man departed, the woman clicking after him. Eggsy watched them go wondering what kind of dope dealer had so much muscle they could make Dean practically shit his pants in fear. And if they were hiring.

"What're you doin' out here?" Dean's question was punctuated by a kick to his step-son's hip. The young man flinched, scooting away as he glared up at him.

"You wouldn't let me in the fuckin' flat."

"Yeah?" Dean smacked him across the face. "Well, get in there now and fuckin' clean up before your mum and sister get home! Go!" A few more swats and kicks were all it took to get Eggsy moving. "And quit smokin' my fuckin' cigarettes ya fuckin' twat!"

Eggsy huffed, shoulders hunched up high as he stomped into their shite flat, wondering if Harry had heard their little spat through his blue door.

*NDS – National Directorate of Security (Afghani secret service)