Music is "You Won't Find Me" by Narrow Skies.

Picture is Mark Strong as Merlin and Colin Firth as Galahad/Harry.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Freight Car

{September 13, 2001 -- Seventeen Years Ago}

L O N D O N

The moment the boat docks off the coast of downtown London, Grant and I are slipping into the crowd. I easily find a taxi that will take us to St. James Street. My memory is sharp from the last time I came here, when Galahad saved me from a HYDRA hired hand at my hotel the day before the royal wedding. It didn't seen very important of a shop then, but now it's the only hope I have.

The news about the attacks keeps flooding in, a constant stream of terror that feeds the masses. The entire world is on edge. I only learned once crossing the Atlantic that the Pentagon had also been hit by a third plane. A fourth had crashed in a Pennsylvanian pasture, which they believe was targeting either the White House, the Presidential Residence, or the Capital Building. Nothing is known for certain, but the news is saying that the passengers of that fourth plane, United Airlines Flight 93, revolted and forced it down to save everyone else. If only everyone could be that brave.

Over the past two days, many things have happened. Congress reconvened yesterday. The FBI is making arrests all over the country. Candlelight vigils are shown all over the news. Names of potential suspects are being thrown around, but most everyone in the government is pointing fingers at Osama Bin Laden. He has denied this, only calling the acts of terror "admirable."

As we drive through the city, nearing Buckingham Palace, I hear a strange yet beautiful sound. The Star-Spangled Banner is playing during the changing of the guard. A huge crowd outside the Palace is singing along, their voices filling the grey skies of London with a eerie and wonderful song. I close my eyes and listen, glad to hear the song of my home being sung in the place of my birth.

When we arrive at the Kingsman Tailor Shop, I pay the taxi driver and exit with Grant on my hip and luggage on my back. I walk straight to the front door, pulling it open. The secondary glass door is locked, and the sign says they're closed. I mutter a curse under my breath and knock on the clear pane.

After a second, more hectic knock, a middle aged man comes to the door. He's not familiar, but I don't expect him to be. From what I remember, the shop always has an agent on hand who is actually a tailor. Have to keep up the charade. He looks at me with a strange expression, then opens the door.

"Can I help you, Ma'am?"

"I need to see Galahad," I state, my voice firm. "I'm an old friend. Is he here?"

"I'm afraid you have the wrong address, Ma'am."

The tailor attempts to close the door, but I stick my foot in the crack. "My name is Emma Jane Barnes," I retort. "I helped Agent Galahad of the Kingsman Secret Service protect the Prince and Princess at their wedding. He told me to find him if I ever needed help. So that's what I'm doing. Go bloody find him. I'm not leaving."

"This is no Secret Service lair, Ms. Barnes," the tailor insists politely. "This is a tailor shop. Now, please. We're closed. Come back another day."

I don't budge, my gaze firming. "Tell Harry Hart I'm here. If he doesn't know who I am, I'll leave." I close my eyes and tighten my grip around Grant. "Please. I don't have anywhere else to go."\

The tailor freezes at the mention of Galahad's true name. He hesitates a moment, then gives a hesitant nod. He opens the door and gestures for me to come inside. "Please, have a seat on the sofa. I'll make a few calls at the desk."

I do as he asks, plopping down tiredly on the sofa with Grant. He sits on the cushion beside me, looking around the shop with curious eyes.

I pull out the translator and ask, "How are you feeling, Darling?"

I flip the setting to reverse, something I've learned how to do over the past two days on the ship. Now, not only can he understand me, but I can understand him. It's not perfect, but it's as good as I can do right now. I've tried to ask his name several times, but he never tells me. Maybe he will in time, but for now I've taken to calling him Grant.

Grant starts to talk, and the translator does it's job. "It smells funny," he says.

I chuckle, causing him to grin at me. After reversing the translation, I agree, "It does smell funny. A bit stuffy, like the ship. Don't worry. We'll get some fresh air after we meet with my friend."

"What friend?" Grant asks innocently.

"An old friend, a friend I had before you and I were friends."

Grant nods once, then makes grabbing fists with his hands. I hand him the translator to play with, turning my ear slightly towards the tailor shop clerk. He's on the phone behind the desk, trying too keep his voice low, but I can still make out his words.

"Yes--Yes, Sir. That Emma. Not Dugan, Barnes. I didn't ask, Sir. Should I--? All right. I'll tell her." The clerk hangs up and walks back over to me. "Galahad is on his way from the mansion, Ms. Barnes."

I nod. "Thank you for asking for him."

The tailor sighs, "I'm sorry about all that. You understand how important it is to keep a low profile here at the shop."

A small smile works its way onto my face. "Don't worry about it. I've been part of a few secrets. I understand the weight of your job." The tailor looks grateful. "How long until he arrives?"

"Not long, a few minutes maybe. I believe he's bringing Merlin with him. Says he's one of your old friends, too?"

My smile widens, turning to something exciting. "The last I saw him he was barely a legal adult."

The tailor chuckles. "He's a senior agent now. Just don't mention the hair."

"What about it?"

"The lack-of."

True to the tailor's word, only a few minutes pass before Galahad and Merlin exit the changing room and enter the shop. I recall from my last visit here that one of those changing rooms takes you to the mansion a few miles outside the city. How they built it and how it works, I have no idea, but it amazes me every time.

Merlin steps forward to give me a tight hug before I can say a word. He looks far different from the man I remember. His dark hair is gone, and he's no longer the eighteen-year-old I first met. If my maths is right, he should be nearing thirty-eight.

I hug him back, never happier for my decision to come here. "Hello, Merlin," I whisper.

Merlin pulls back with a sad smile. "Jesus, you still look the same, lassie."

I shrug, pulling at a strand of my blonde hair. "Except for this, I'd say."

Merlin runs a hand over his bald head. "That makes two of us."

I chuckle and turn to Galahad. The forty-year-old man looks nearly the same as I last saw him, just an older, more mature version. His eyes are wide in shock as he stares at me.

"You both knew I was immortal last time I visited," I chuckle.

"Yes," Galahad agrees, "but it's one thing to know and an entirely different thing to see." He steps forward, reaching his hand out in a proper, gentlemanly fashion. "Pleasure to see you again, Guinevere."

I grab his hand and pull him in for a hug. "Glad to be here, Harry."

When he pulls away, he clears his throat. Merlin says, "We're very sorry to hear about New York. What those bampots did was unforgivable."

Despite not know what a "bampot" is, I nod my thanks and turn to Galahad. "I'm sorry I came unannounced. I didn't have anywhere else to go."

Galahad looks past me and to the toddler on the sofa, who's still playing with the translator. "I assume it has something to do with him?"

I nod, glancing over my shoulder at Grant. "I pulled him from the wreckage after the second tower was hit. I saved him, but his parents are dead and he was in the country illegally. They would've deported him. Peggy Carter helped me sneak him out, but she can't help me anymore. She's still part of SHIELD, even if she's not the Director."

Merlin shakes his forefinger at the two of us, ideals flying across his mind. "You need new identities, you need travel, you need a place to go."

"Yes to the first two, but I already know where I need to go," I reply. "Marseille, a port city on the southern part of France. I have a condo there under an alias. France has the worst extradition treaty ever. It takes years for someone arrested there to be sent to the United States. We won't be bothered there."

Merlin nods with confidence. "I can make you both new identities. What is this alias you used?"

"Emma Lécuyer," I reply, putting a French lilt on the surname. "I was thinking Grant could be my son."

"You're going to keep him?" Galahad inquires, surprised. "Are you sure that's...wise, Emma?"

I cross my arms over my chest. "What does that mean?"

"All I'm saying is that you're a wanted woman," he explains. "They'll be looking for you both: an English woman and a Korean boy. Not to mention your patchy history. Wouldn't this boy be safer with someone else?"

Grant hops down from the sofa and walks over to me. His arms wrap around my leg, and he leans his head against my knee. I smile as I look down at him, running my hand over his thick, dark hair. My resolve solidifies in that moment.

"I have thought about it," I admit, "but I believe Grant and I are safer together than apart. I can't just leave him with some other family, not after all he's been through. He likes me, I think. I won't do that to him, and I've grown rather fond of him. For better or worse, we're in this together."

Galahad smiles softly and nods. "All right, then. Emma and Grant Lécuyer it is."

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"I don't know how to thank you."

"You don't have to." Galahad hands me a file of everything we need: birth certificates, French passports, I.D. cards, employment records, residential records, social numbers, medical histories, and a valid reason as to why we've been out of the country. "This should be everything, but you're scrappy, Emma. If in doubt, soldier your way to an answer."

I take the file and thank him. When I flip through it, I find Grant's new birth certificate. As far as the world knows, he's my biological son now. I can look through the rest later.

As I tuck the file into my backpack, Merlin hands me two train tickets. "One-way to Marseille. Get a taxi to take you to the other side of the Chunnel, then once you're in Coquelles, get on a train to Marseille."

I nod, pulling Merlin in for a tight hug. "You're bloody brilliant, you know that?"

He chuckles, "Oh, I do, lassie." He pulls back. "Good luck, Emma."

"You know, you never told me your real name," I tease.

Merlin grins. "Hamish, my given name is Hamish and that's all you're getting, lassie."

A huge smirk plasters itself on my face. "All right, Hamish."

Merlin rolls his eyes as he steps for the street, hailing a taxi for me. I turn to Galahad, scooping Grant from the ground and resting him on my hip. "Thank you," I say honestly. "For everything."

Galahad gives me a goodbye embrace, whispering, "Be safe, Emma."

"You, too, Harry."

The taxi takes us to the other side of the Chunnel in a few hours. Grant sleeps for most of that time, but I can't stand to close my eyes. The last time I was in France, in Marseille, the day ended with the news of the Starks' deaths and a gunshot to the head. I haven't been back since 1991. Ten years makes a lot of difference, but I'm still a bit nervous to be completely on my own.

When we get to the other side, after going through security, we easily find the train station to take us to Marseille. The freight car is large and empty, so I'm free to let Grant explore the cabin under my watchful eye. I can't help the smile he causes when he tries to hop onto one of the other benches to see out the window.

I gesture for him to come to me. When he does, I put him on my lap and let him stare at the window. Once the freight car starts moving, the trees zip by in a collage of green and grey. It's enough to keep him busy for hours.

We've made it. We're in France, on our way to Marseille, safe from the Americans. We're free again. Everything is going to work out just fine. I tighten my grasp around Grant, resting my chin on top of his head as he rests. And maybe, just maybe, I allow myself a bit of sleep as well.

END CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Freight Car.