[Fic]Fuck Thursdays 1/?

[evisersia]

So, things being what they are, the last half of my year's been crazy and I didn't get to finish my Achievement Unlocked fic for the Kingsman Reverse Bang, which sucks, because I was enjoying what I was writing for it. So, in the New Year I'm going to continue working on it, just for me, and maybe sometime soon I'll get it to a place I can post it.

Until then, I did want to at least post something. So I'm breaking my no WIP rule just once here on Dreamwidth.

Fandom: Kingsman/Legend Fusion
Pairing: Merlahad, eventual Merhartwin
Warnings: Canon typical violence, homophobia, and language.  TBA as I think of them.
Summary:  Eggsy's convinced that nothing good could ever happen on a Thursday, but, he is willing to be convinced.
A/N:  This is a fusion of the Kingsman and Legend universes. I've tried to stay true to the characters involved, while they might not sound or act quite like themselves.  Uhh I just hope it works, lol.  And last note, I've not read any other fills to this prompt while working on this fic, any similarities are coincidental. Hopefully I'll finish this bad boy soon so I can finally read.  Eesh.

 

Fuck Thursdays.  Far as Eggsy’s concerned nothing good ever happened on a fucking Thursday.

Case in point, his Thursday started normal enough.  He woke early, and beat feet out of the house before he could be treated to a sideshow of Dean and his mum over brekkie.  By lunch, he was feeling optimistic that he’d not have to clap eyes on Dean or one of his thugs for the day when Poodle tracked him down and ruined his lucky streak.

“It’s an’ all hands situation, so don’t give me any lip and get a move on, or Dean’ll have you out on the corner of Smith Street like the fucking fairy you are.”

Eggsy could have gone a lifetime without falling into London’s seedy underbelly.  He’d fought that end, tooth and nail, only to get dragged down when his mum took up with Dean Baker, a local enforcer with delusions of grandeur.  To hear the man talk, he and his boys ran the East End. Eggsy was smart enough to know better, but not smart enough to find a way out for he and his mum-- considering she didn’t want to go.

There was no love lost between him and Dean, but Eggsy was good enough in a fight to earn his keep, so long as he obeyed.  He acted out, and as Dean and his goons loved to remind him, they’d have him earn his keep on his knees with the other rough trade down the road.

So Eggsy toed the line, and on this particular Thursday that meant dropping what he was doing and heading to the Black Prince.

The scene he walked in on was fuckin’ surreal.

The entire fuckin’ gang was there loiterin’ in every corner of the pub, while Dean was sittin’ like some king on his throne at the end booth across from an older bloke that seemed familiar enough in profile, though Eggsy couldn’t quite place him.  He was dressed to the nines, suit that fit him like a glove, and shoes that gleamed even in the low light, and sippin’ at a pint of Guinness as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Too nice, for the place he was sittin’.

Sane man would’ve been nervous, so many unfriendly eyes on him.  This bloke, whoever he was, clearly wasn’t sane.

Eggsy slipped in the back and edged into the corner, not wanting to draw attention to himself.  Even so, he could see it as the blokes eyes twitched in his direction before turning back to Dean.

“While I’ve been enjoying your hospitality, Mr. Baker, I believe it’s time to get down to business-- or are we waiting for more of your associates to arrive?” The bloke tips his head in Eggsy’s direction, then in Poodle’s who was plantin’ himself in front of the door, stout and unmoveable with his arms crossed and brow furrowed.

“And what business is it you have with me and mine?  I’ve been mighty curious ‘bout that since you walked here into my home and made yourself comfortable like it was your own.”  Eggsy winced at the way Dean’s voice rose with every word, and at how his hand clenched around his pint glass, near hard enough to break it.

Violence was about to be the word of the day, and outnumbered twenty to one, things weren’t lookin’ good for the poor bastard that’d walked into the wrong pub on the wrong side of town.

“It does rankle, doesn’t it,” the man replied mildly as he lifted his own glass to examine the liquid left at the bottom.  “Having someone stroll into your territory and try to make it your own?”

Dean leaned back against the booth with the petulance of a teenager, fingers drumming against the table.  “What’s this about then?”

The man put his drink aside and leveled his heavy gaze on Dean.  “It’s about Roger Dalworth and The Coach & Carriage.”

Two things happened at once.  At the table, Dean’s eyes went wide and his face went pale save for the angry red of his cheeks, while at the door Poodle’s spine snapped straight so quick like you’d have thought he’d been shot.

Eggsy frowned as Dean tried to cover his startled reaction with a weak laugh.  “Don’t reckon I know what you’re talking about mate.”

There might have been men in the room stupid enough to believe Dean, but Eggsy weren’t one of them.  Neither was the mysterious bloke who sipped at the remainder of his Guiness without a care in the world.  “Please, Mr. Baker. There are many things I am, but gullible is not one of them. I have no doubts that you and your charming associates--there and there--” He nodded to Moodle and Rottie in turn, because of course Dean’s two loyal dogs would be neck deep in whatever shite their master had gotten them all into.  “Approached Mr. Dalworth this last Sunday evening and attempted to persuade him into selling you The Coach & Carriage, a club on the North End, currently owned by my employers.”

“Work for the bank then, do ya?”

“Not at all.  I represent the Kingsman.”

Fuck.

Now Eggsy knew why the bloke seemed familiar, and he weren’t the only one.  A low murmur went through the room, that cut off right quick when Dean turned to snarl at them.

The Kingsman were a firm that had been all over the papers, from the gossip rags to the legit publications.  Business men is what they called themselves. They had clubs, and gambling dens-- even a fuckin’ tailor shop up on Savile row, but while they knocked elbows with the well to do in the daylight, the rumours of what went on in the shadows were a might more sinister.  

It weren’t just the normal protection rackets and pill scams that they ran.  No, the way Eggsy saw it, the Kingsman were taking control of the London underground piece by piece, and they weren’t afraid to kill anyone that stood in their way.

The fuck had Dean been thinking, trying to muscle in on their territory?

“Am I supposed to be impressed?”  

The man sighed and pushed his glass aside to play his hands face up on the table.  “Perhaps not, but you are supposed to be aware that we do not take kindly to incursions in our territory, nor to the threatening of agents in our employ.  I am here to suggest that in the future you stick to dealing in your own territory lest we be forced to take action.”

Dean laughed, and made bold by their leader actin like a berk, so did the others stationed around him.  “Yeah. Well what I think is that my territory consitutes whatefer I fuckin want it to be, and no fuckin’ geezer ina fuckin’ suit and his fancy fuckin’ words is gonna walk into my pub and tell me what I’m gonna do.”

The man’s head ticked to the side, just a fraction, the way Eggsy had seen a dog’s do just before it chomped down on whatever was vexxin’ it, but the bloke didn’t do anything, save for sigh. “Very well.  It is, after all, your choice to heed my warning or not.” He turned, and in a single fluid motion pushed away from the booth to stand. “Good day, Mr. Baker.”

He gathered up a ‘brelly, that Eggsy hadn’t even seen, then managed to make it three long steps into the middle of the room before Dean’s laughter made him pause, and turn.

“Good day, Mr. Baker he says.  Like we’re just gonna let him walk out of here.”  Dean likewise pushed away from the table, fists held in front of him like he was about to take the first swing.  At the door, Poodle’s spine straightened, and Rottie echoed the movement at the bar. “No. The way I see it, is we’ll be sendin’ a message of our own to your Kingsmen.  Let ‘em know that we ain’t to be trifled with.  And we won’t waste time with fuckin’ words. We’ll be sendin’ this message with your blood.”

The man sighed again, resigned as he glanced around the room at the men sneering in his direction. “If you must.  I hope you don’t mind if I fight back?”

Dean barked out another laugh, a cold harsh sound that made Eggsy’s stomach churn.  “By all means.”

What happened next, Eggsy would never believe if he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes.  The closest men closed in around the man as Poodle turned around to lock the door. In that split second Eggsy’s attention was diverted, the man sprung into action.  By the time his eyes were back where they should be, two of Dean’s men were on the floor, and the third was in a chokehold, trapped by the bloke’s umbrella, and used as a shield momentarily until he was pushed away into the oncoming attackers, causing them to stumble.

The advancing wave recovered and pushed him out of the way, taking up whatever they could reach as a weapon against the sudden threat.  Everyone was yelling.

“Don’t just stand there gawking, Muggsy,” Dean’s voice cut through the den.  “Get in there!”

That was the last thing Eggsy wanted to do, but he rolled up his sleeves anyway, knowing that he had little choice.  “Fuck you,” he grumbled under his breath, looking for an opening. He found it, seconds later, and took two quick steps in to land a solid punch to the man’s ribs as he fended off Rottie’s baton.

Eggsy had little time to celebrate his hit as an elbow flew at his face.  The man landed a blow of his own, even as he staggered from the force of Eggsy’s, right between Rottie’s eyes.  Rottie went down hard, as the man spun to face Eggsy head on. He abandoned the umbrella entirely to lash out with a fist, the strike so quick, Eggsy barely had the time to dodge.

He took a quick step back, then changed momentum to swing low again.  This time, the man caught his wrist in an iron grip, and used Eggsy’s own velocity to spin them around.  There was a hysterical part of Eggsy’s mind that figured this was kind of like dancing, the more rational portion knew that he was in over his fuckin’ head.

One two step, and before he could get another blow in, Eggsy was down on his stomach, kissing the floor with the bloke’s shoe just so against his fuckin’ throat.  The pressure weren’t enough to cut off his air flow, proper, but Eggsy got the message stay down clear enough.

 “That’s quite enough, I think,” the man announced to the room at large.

Eggsy eyed what he could of the room, unable to see little more than the other goons laid out in similar positions.

“Get up you bastards!”  Dean growled. No one moved.  Eggsy didn’t dare even twitch.

“Well, I believe my message has been received,” the man drawled.  He blinked around the room at the groaning men, thoroughly unimpressed.  “But please, allow me to spell things out for you, Mr. Baker. You will not continue your little push into Kingsman territory, or the next time we won’t be so kind.”

If this was what the bloke considered kind, Eggsy hated to think what wasn’t.  He wheezed as the shoe on his throat turned. For a moment, the man looked down the plane of his body and his eyes met Eggsy’s.  Something in him shifted, but before Eggsy could even think to figure out what that was, the moment was over.

“If you think I’m going to just let you---”

“I do,” the man interrupted Dean with a sharp tone.  “Your men are spent; you have no one else to face me.  Unless you have a wish to join them on the floor, you will just let me walk away, and you will do as I have said.  Understood?”

Eggsy might have had more than a few unkind words for Dean, but he hadn’t gotten as far as he had by being so short sighted that he shot himself in the fuckin’ foot.  Even from his shitty vantage, he could see the gears working in Dean’s head, as he fought for a way to save face. “Fine. You can go,” he worded it like a dismissal. “And I’ve received your bloody message.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” 

For a moment, everything was still, then suddenly the pressure on his throat was gone.  Eggsy coughed and rolled onto his side as he watched the bloke hook his umbrella over his arm and turn to walk towards the door.  He unlocked it himself before turning to face Dean. “Have a good day Mr. Baker,” he said at last, tone pleasant, as if they’d just been having a drink and a bit of conversation.  He did not wait for a reply before letting himself out of the Black Prince, the bell ringing as the door closed

Eggsy pushed up to his elbows and blinked at the closed door as he tried to figure out if all that had really happened.  It must have-- his throat hurt like hell, and his head wasn’t doing much better. Seemed that he wasn’t the only one having trouble graspin’ reality though, as all around the pub, the men that could started to pull themselves up.

Dean was red in the face as he surveyed his kingdom.  “Well, that’s just fuckin’ great you fuckin’ cowards. Poodle.  Rottie. Get your arses up and come with me. We’re going to have a little chat with Mr. Dalworth and let him know what fuckin’ happens when he goes cryin’ and lettin’ other firms know my business.”

“But boss, you said--” 

“I know what I said.  And for the rest of you.  I want that man fuckin’ dead.  I don’t care how you do it, but no one comes into our home and disrespects me, and just gets to fuckin’ walk away.  If he ain’t six foot under by Sunday mornin’ I will put each of you down one by fuckin’ one until he is.”

Eggsy jumped and pushed out of the way as Dean and his guard dogs damn near trod all over him on their way out the door.  Dean paused there, scowling down at Eggsy. “And I’m gonna fuckin’ start, with you.”

They left then, the other trickling out behind them as Eggsy sulked and rubbed at his throat.  He’d like to see Dean fuckin’ try.

Fuck Thrusdays.

---------

Saturday night found Eggsy leaning against a lamppost in a borrowed suit, watching the entrance to the Kingsman.  It was a cushy joint full of important people rubbing their elbows with some of the most notorious of London’s underbelly like it was some kind of lark.  It was the kind of place that Eggsy had no hope of getting into really, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to fuckin’ try.  

He lit his last cigarette with a match struck off the nearby post, his attention firmly on the door as he took a long drag to settle his nerves. If he could just slip in when--

“C’mon.  Clear off.  This ain’t the kind of establishment that lets a rentboy set up shop right in front of the fuckin’ door.”

A deep Scottish brogue rumbled right into his ear made Eggsy jump and sent his cigarette tumbling down to the ground below.  “Shite!” Eggsy cursed, as he watched it fall, then started to turn. “Fuck off sweaty, I ain’t no fuckin’---”

If the Scot had snuck up on him, the second man was a ghost.  Eggsy found himself pinned to the lamppost, a hand like a vice around his shoulder, and a switchblade pressed against his throat.  He blinked, stunned, and then relaxed as the figure shifted more fully into the light. “You it’s--”

“Muggsy was it,” the man interrupted as he looked Eggsy up and down.  “Since I’m imparting lessons to your ilk this week, allow me to give you another.”  The blade pressed tighter. “Under no circumstances do you disrespect Merlin, or my blade will be the least of your worries.”  

He stepped away then, and left Eggsy to slump against the pole and try to catch his breath.  “It’s Eggsy. Eggsy Unwin,” he corrected between wheezes.  “And who the fuck is Merlin?”

“That would be me,” the Scot answered as he too shifted more into the light.  The two men shared a look between them, that Eggsy distractedly filed away to question later.  He was too busy now, glarin’ up at Merlin as the other man looked down his nose at him.

If Eggsy hadn’t seen the other bloke fight, Eggsy would have pegged this man as the enforcer.  He was all sharp edges and sleek lines with a bald head and a jaw that could cut glass. He was hard, and had a cruel look to him, where the other bloke seemed softer, and almost bored.  “Right. Fine. No disrepect, but I’m not a fuckin’ rentboy.”

“Then what may I ask, are you doing loitering outside our door,” the yet-unnamed bloke from the Black Prince asked, tone mild, but eyes sharp as he too looked down at Eggsy.

Eggsy’s spine straightened in response.  “I was lookin’ for you,” he said, nodding in the man’s direction.  “I came to warn you. Dean’s got no intentions of staying on his side of town.  He’s put a hit out on you too. Said he don’t care how it happens, just that he wants you dead.”

The two men shared another look, as they shifted closer to Eggsy boxing him in.  He sucked in a breath, if only to take up more space. “What’s in this for you, lad,” Merlin asked him at length.  What’re you hopin’ to get out of comin’ here?”

“I told you,” Eggsy insisted, ignoring the Scot in favor of locking eyes with the other man. “Just wanted to fuckin’ warn ya.  You’re stupid if you think Dean’s just gonna give up his plans cause you tell him too.”

“Hope springs eternal,” the man drawled.  “But I suppose that was all that expecting a man of Mr. Baker’s caliber to behave rationally was; hope.”  He leaned away from Eggsy then, and pulled a small, silver cigarette case from his jacket pocket that he opened, then slid back out of sight before lifting the cigarette to his lips.

Eggsy’s eyes followed the movement-- couldn’t fucking help it.  There was somethin’ about the way the man moved, even doin’ shit so mundane as havin’ a smoke.  Merlin eased around Eggsy to light the end, then stayed there, shoulder to shoulder with the other man as they both considered Eggsy. 

“Suppose we should tell Arthur about this,” Merlin rumbled.

“And we had such lovely plans,” the other man sighed.  They shared a look. They were fuckin’ good at doin’ that--communicatin’ without sayin’ a single word.  “Well, come along then, Eggsy.”

Eggsy tore his eyes away from the cigarette to blink up at the man in surprise.  “You want me to come with you, in there?”

The man laughed as Merlin rolled his eyes and turned away to start walking back across the street.  “That was the idea. At the very least, I owe you a drink, but do take a moment to consider, if Mr. Baker is willing to go to such great lengths to kill me, what will he do to you should he find out about your wavering loyalties?  No, don’t answer right away. Just think about it for a moment, and come inside.”

Eggsy didn’t have to consider the question.  He knew if Dean had found out what he’d done, he was dead meat, but Eggsy was tired of living life under Dean’s thumb.  He wouldn’t be here if he were afraid of Dean Baker. “Yeah, alright. But, if he’s Merlin, and you’re reportin’ to Arthur, what am I supposed to call you?  Guinevere?”

The man let out another soft laugh, as he took one last drag from his cigarette, the smoke wafting from between his lips as he formed the words,  “You may call me Galahad.”