Suited {Eggsy x Reader} (Kingsman Fanfic)

Chapter 2

(Y/n) P.O.V.

"Customer complaints. How may I help you?" A cheerful sounding woman answers the phone. I'm confused for a minute, but decide to keep going. "U-Uh, this is (Y/n) (L/n), I'm in Holborn police station and I was told to call this number if ever I needed help..." A pause. "I'm sorry. You have the wrong number." For a split second, I think she's right and I wasted my phone call, but then I remember the phrase. "Wait, Oxfords not Brogues." Another pause. "Your complaint has been duly noted, and we hope that we've not lost you as a loyal customer." The woman says, then hangs up. I inwardly groan.

"Times up." A cop calls. "We got other punk kids like you to deal with, so wait here." He brings me back to interrogation room, handcuffs me, then leaves. I stare into the two way mirror in boredom. After a few minutes the cop comes back. "Someone's here to bail you out. Lucky you." He grumbles. Confused, I follow him after he uncuffs me. I leave the building, and turn to the stairs when I see a guy around my age in street clothes, and a strangely familiar, older, suited, man. "(Y/n). Eggsy. Would you like a lift home?" He asks.

"Who are you?" This Eggsy kid, who is very attractive may I add, turns and asks. "The man who got you released." Weird suit man answers. But it clicks why he's familiar. "That ain't an answer. Never did get an answer years ago." I butt in. "A little gratitude would be nice. My name is Harry Hart, and I gave you two those medals. Funny you should use them on the same day. Your father saved my life. And I worked with your mother." He adds the part about my mother, but he says it with an underlying message that I don't understand. "Now I have an answer." I mumble. We walk into a pub, continuing to talk. "So before you was a tailor, were you in the army? Like an officer?" Eggsy asks. "Not quite."

"So where was you posted? Iraq or something?" Eggsy asks. "Sorry, Eggsy. Classified." I'm curious though. "But his dad saved your life, yeah?" I point out. "The day your father died, I missed something. And if it weren't for his courage, my mistake would have cost the lives of every man present. So I owe him. Your father was a brave man. A good man. And having read each of your files, I'd think both of your parents would be bitterly disappointed in the choices you've made." I growl at the last part. "You can't talk to me like that." Eggsy proclaims. "Huge IQ, great performance at primary school. Then it all went tits up. Drugs, petty crime, never had a job." Harry says to him. "Oh, you think there's a lot of jobs going around here, do you?" Eggsy asks.

"Doesn't explain why you gave up your hobbies. First prize, regional under tens' gymnastics two years in a row. Your coach had you pegged as Olympic team material." I give Eggsy an impressed look to which he shrugs. "Yeah, well, when you grow up around someone like my step-dad, you pick up new hobbies pretty quick." I lean back in my seat. "Besides you need a job to have hobbies like that." Harry turns on me now. "Also high IQ up until your third year of secondary school. Then you decide it's better to constantly get drunk, and vandalize the other sides of town. Didn't have a job either, and quit every form of martial arts or sports you took." I sigh. "Wasn't my choice." Karen made me stop after my father died. "Besides those pricks deserve it."

"Oh, of course. Always someone else's fault. Who's to blame for you quitting the Army? Excellent progress after two months, then you left. Or you," he turns to Eggsy, "Who's to blame for you quitting the Marines? You were halfway through training, doing brilliantly, but you gave up."

"Because my mum went mental! Banging on about losing me as well as my dad. Didn't want me being cannon fodder for snobs like you, judging people like me from your ivory towers, with no thought about why we do what we do! We ain't got much choice, you get me? And if we was born with the same silver spoon up our arses, we'd do just as well as you, if not better." Eggsy goes on, pissed. "You don't understand what it's like for us peasant folk," I say, laced with sarcasm, "having to be stronger right from the start because you self absorbed pricks have everything handed to you so much you don't have anything better to do then to rain down in us. We don't have the choices you can make, but if we're handed the life we had now, you'd be lost in the crowd." I add vehemently. "Besides, how the fuck do you have all this information on us?"