Work Text
o0o
Merlin closed his eyes with a resigned sigh as soon as he heard the doors to his office open, having monitored the approach of Harry Hart storming in here through the security cameras. He knew from the high-res videos that the man was highly agitated and most likely to bring with him destruction and a volatile temper that was infamous within Kingsman. It didn’t take much to figure out what had brought him here to vent, not after just having lost Lancelot.
Galahad would have been the first to volunteer for the investigation into the late agent’s death, never mind that he hadn’t been able to stand the man for any extended periods of time. No, it wasn’t because he’d lost an actual dear friend. What it came down to was a matter of principle, really, combined with that fucking temper of his, and the impulsive but ingrained habit of immediate action (the sum of which often made him into an unpredictable but effective wildcard).
That he was running to Merlin with that look on his face could only mean he has been denied, a surprising turn of events, as Galahad was one of their top operatives, regardless of his sometimes rather unorthodox methods.
“That
fucker!
” Harry snarled, punching a wall (he had enough self-preservation to avoid damaging anything technological within the sacred walls of Merlin’s office, at least). “That fucking
arse!”
“I gather you’re not going anywhere, then?” Merlin remarked, amused despite himself and their circumstances. Spinning in his chair, he turned to face his furious friend, watching him pace up and down.
Abruptly, Harry stopped to glare at him, pointing a finger his way with a snarl. “You get me in contact with dear Guinevere, or so help me Merlin, I’ll go after that fucker myself and smash his face into the pavement.”
Unimpressed, Merlin raised a brow, patiently waiting for a bit more of an explanation than
that.
One didn’t simply
contact
Guinevere without good reason, after all. They both knew better.
“He’s pulled me off the Lancelot case, Merlin, and I’d like to fucking know
why
,” Harry hissed, pausing to take a deep breath. He visibly attempted to calm himself, to which Merlin had to give him kudos. “Arthur told me I was to be briefed. We’ve got the green to contact him.”
“So he knew you would come here to vent then,” Merlin said with a nod, shrugging at Harry’s glare. The man could be predictable, much as Harry himself hated to acknowledge it. “I’ll set up a secure line, hold on.”
Harry huffed, “Thank you,” and dragged a chair over to sit down next to him, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at the large screen before them. The call was connecting for less than a few seconds before it got picked up, a sign that they had been expected, unsurprisingly. Guinevere knew Harry Hart as well as Merlin did (they’d all three survived University together, after all. It was a bond for life, according to Hart).
“Merlin, I see Galahad is right on time, for once,” drawled Guinevere, seated behind his desk and gazing calmly into the camera on his computer, fingers steepled like a cheesy Bond villain. Why Merlin had been cursed with two overly dramatic ‘friends’ with such an awful sense of humour, he had yet to figure out.
“Listen here,
my Queen,
what the fuck are you up to? Why are you sending
Bors
on this, and not me?” Harry growled, leaning forward and meeting the other man’s cool attachment with all the heat of his temper.
“Bors is perfectly well qualified to look into the matter,” Guinevere stated, put-upon as always. “Besides, I have another pressing...
situation
...which needs to be dealt with by someone I can...trust.”
Merlin closed his eyes in exasperation. He could guess where this was going. A quick look sideways confirmed that Harry was on the same page, face flushed in anger.
“I swear to
God
, Mycroft, if this is about your
fucking brother
again I will fucking
kill
that little shit
myself,
understood?” Harry gritted out through his teeth, uncaring for the breach of protocol in abandoning codenames. Not that the line wasn’t secure enough, Merlin had seen to it himself, but again, protocol. Merlin rolled his eyes, resigned.
“Oh give me a break, Hart,” Mycroft drawled, apparently joining in on the total disregard of simple, standard Kingsman protocol. Honestly, what had Merlin expected of these two when they’re both obviously in a snit? “You’re simply out for blood, a headspace not conductive to the mission. Besides, I have concluded that your particular methods are not ideal for it, and better suited elsewhere at the moment. I cannot have you rampaging on some sort of crusade of vengeance, Hart. This matter calls for subtlety, not butchery.” Harry is about to cut him off, but Mycroft levels him with a look which shuts him up. “
However,
the mission I
am
sending you on, will very much require it. You can view it as therapeutic, if you will.”
Breathing in sharply, Harry closed his eyes and massaged his temples for a few moments before composing himself and looking back at the neck which turned Arthur’s head; Kingsman’s puppeteer. An analogy which never failed to have Mycroft grimacing in distaste, but was nonetheless true. Merlin allowed himself a small grin.
“All right,” Harry began, still tense with anger but no longer ready to fly off the handle, so to speak. “Loathe as I am to admit it, I do trust your judgement. You must have good reasons for this fuckery.” Merlin snorted, to which Harry sent him a glare before continuing. “Now, what, or who, is in need of some ‘butchery’?”
Mycroft smiled coldly at them. “I am sure you are familiar with Charles Augustus Magnussen?”
Merlin groaned, and covered his eyes with his hand at the look of hopeful glee on Harry’s face.
“Oh
yes,
is it finally time?” Harry grinned.
Mycroft’s lips thinned into a grim line. “Yes, yes it is.”
o0o