TWO.
MANNERS MAKETH (WO)MAN

As Bex sat in that tiny cell surrounded by nothing but metal and rust, she figured she probably should've been contemplating her mortality or asking forgiveness for her her sins or whatever, but the only thing she could think about was how damn bored she was.

It didn't really matter anyways. She was going to jail no matter what. Bex took a shaky breath and shivered, feeling the nervous energy constantly pumping through her veins bubble to the surface. Her eyes darted around the room as she twisted the gold ring on her finger over and over again. She could never keep her hands still. When Bex was little and her mother still took her to doctor's appointments, she'd been propped up on a paper-covered bench and lectured on attention-deficit and hyperactivity disorder. ADHD. They'd given her a tiny bottle of blue pills to keep her still, but she never took them.

Bex was glad she didn't. It kept her on her toes, hyper aware, always looking for the next move. It kept her alive. She was always looking two steps ahead, scanning the streets for an escape and planning her punches. Bex always had a way out. But now, she had no plan, and no way out.

Her stomach churned just thinking about living in a cell for the next year and a half. Between her crippling fear of small spaces and her inability to sit still, prison was practically guaranteed to be one long party. But mostly, she was worried about the food. Food was one of her main priorities and concerns in life. What did they serve in prison?

If it was salad, she'd dig her way out of there with a spoon. Lettuce was for rabbits, not teenage girls.

Bex bit her lip, counting the stained, grey tiles on the floor. She'd been in here for what felt like hours, and she could feel exhaustion pulling at her eyelids. It had been a long day, and all she really wanted was to sleep. Just as she was laying her head down in her arms, there was a loud clang that reverberated throughout the hallway. Bex's head jerked up as she watched the doorway, listening to the echo of footsteps.

The door burst open, revealing a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman in a tailored suit. He peered at her with sharp, intelligent eyes from behind a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses. The man had neatly combed brown hair tinged with silver, and his mouth was turned up in a mysterious half-smile. He looked strangely familiar to Bex, although, judging by his shiny shoes and gilded watch, he wasn't from around here.

"Miss Alden, I presume?" the gentleman asked in a low, soft voice.

"Where's John?" said Bex, taken aback.

"Miss Alden, my name is Harry Hart. You've been released and I've come to collect you."

"You're my get-out-of-jail-free card?" Bex stared at him apprehensively. "Who are you?"

"I believe I just told you. I'm Harry Hart," he replied pleasantly.

She shook her head. "No. I want to know who you really are. No one bails a stranger out of jail-"

"Well, that's where you're wrong. You see, you're not a stranger at all. I know you quite well, even if we haven't spoken in years."

Bex laughed nervously. "You know we're in a police station, right? Usually stalking counts as a criminal offense."

"Stalking is not how I would put it. My situation is...unique. I have resources."

"That's what stalkers say," grumbled Bex. She rubbed her temples, feeling her bad mood worsen. "Listen, I've had a shit day and I don't know fuck-all about you, so pardon me if I'm not leaping up out of my seat so we can hold hands and skip out of jail off into the sunset."

Bex wasn't quite sure what she was expecting. A disapproving frown, maybe. But to her confusion, all she got was a bemused smile.

"Interesting. You're surprisingly foul-mouthed for a teenage girl."

"So I'm not Miss Universe. Sue me. What's it to you?"

"Well, as I mentioned, I am here to get you out."

"You're bailing me out?"

"Precisely."

Suddenly realizing she was being given an opportunity to get out of here, Bex quickly jumped to her feet. "Well, why didn't you say so?" she grinned, extending a hand for him to shake. "I'm Rebecca Alden, but I go by-"

"Bex. Yes, I know," Harry finished.

Bex drew her hand back ever so slightly, wondering if walking out of prison with a man she'd never met but knew so much about her was really a good idea. Who was this man? And why had he bailed her out? He had to want something in exchange, but she had nothing to offer him. Still, weighing her options, leaving prison with a stranger was still better than sitting here for months.

"Don't be alarmed," he said, noticing her apprehensive expression. "I knew your father very well. We served together in the military. He, ah...He was my best friend."

"Well, thank you. A ringing endorsement from my father, except, oh wait! He's dead. How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Harry had flinched when she'd mentioned her father's death, but he had quickly rearranged his features and was now staring at her with raised eyebrows. "Are you always this suspicious, Rebecca?"

She stiffened. "My name is Bex. Only my mother calls me Rebecca."

Harry smiled. "Your father did too. You never did like that name, even as a child. I guess you've forgotten that I was the one who helped you choose that particular nickname."

Bex looked at him quickly. Suddenly a faint memory came to her, a blur of warm light and tears and a golden ring being pressed into her palm.

"You're the man who gave me this ring!" Bex exclaimed, her hand flying to touch the symbol.

"Yes, I am," Harry said. "Bex, I know it's been many years, but did your mother ever tell you what the 'K' stood for?"

Bex furrowed her brow in confusion, her thumb grazing the small symbol.

"She said it was for my father. K for Kilian."

Harry looked at her and straightened the lapels of his gray suit. "I think it's time we had a little chat."

☂

Bex traced the rim of the pint of beer in front of her with her finger, glancing at the man across from her.

"Bex, your father didn't die exactly as you thought he did. He was serving his country, yes, but not in the military. He was a Kingsman agent, on a mission in Siberia."

Bex stared at Harry for a moment, her face impassive, then burst out laughing. "Oh, Harry, and I thought you didn't have a sense of humor. Thank you for that. I haven't heard that good of a joke in years."

Harry didn't laugh. His face remained still as he simply peered back at her through his glasses. Harry had an infuriating look of superiority on his face like he knew something she didn't, a small smile on his face.

"I'm not joking. Kilian Castillo was a member of a secret service devoted to the preservation of life and balance in our tumultuous world."

"Kingsman? You said it was a a tailor shop. What, are you all leading double lives? Sewing and saving the world?" Bex scoffed.

"Exactly," Harry responded pleasantly.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Bex leaned back into the cracked leather of the booth she was sitting in. She blinked, her head spinning slightly. The smoky interior of the pub they were seated in suddenly felt too hot as she tried to process the fact that everything she has thought about her father was a lie.

"No. Your father saved my life, and I will forever be in his debt because of it. That's why I've come today. You're his daughter, his only child. The last remnants of his legacy."

Harry leaned forward, clasping his hands together as his face hardened slightly. "Which is why, looking at your files, I think he would be sorely disappointed that you've ruined everything he built for you."

Bex's head shot up as she looked at him incredulously. "Excuse me? What makes you think you can say that sort of thing to me?"

"Why is it," Harry asked. "that you manage to waste every opportunity given to you?"

Bex drew in a breath sharply. "You-"

"You had perfect marks in school, did brilliantly on your A-Level exams, and then you just gave it all up. You dropped out of school with only a month left and no plans for your future. No diploma, no job, and a police record littered with petty crimes."

"Do you really think I chose-"

"You were even accepted to Oxford University under a full scholarship," Harry continued loudly, as if she hadn't even spoken.

She felt the anger that had been slowly building as he spoke boil over as she slammed her hands on the wooden table. Her pulse was pounding in her ears and she had to clench her fists to keep from punching him. "How can you say that? You think I just threw away everything because I wanted to? Oxford was my dream, my ticket out. But I didn't get a choice. I tried to go to Oxford. I ran away twice. Made it about five miles the first time before my mum called the cops. Second time I tried, she dragged me back herself and gave me this."

Bex pulled back her sleeve, gesturing to a knotted scar on her wrist with a shaking finger. When they'd gotten home, her mother had thrown an empty bottle of whiskey straight at Bex's head. The broken glass had just missed her eye, lodging itself in her wrist instead as she'd thrown up a hand to protect herself. She'd spent the night pressing a rag to the wound, trying to stop the endless bleeding, and crying silently so her mother wouldn't hear. That was right about when any lingering feeling of love and sympathy for her mother had vanished. The person who stroked her hair and kissed her goodnight was gone and a stranger had taken her place.

"You have no right," Bex hissed. "Where were you years ago? Why didn't you help me then? You can't just waltz in now, claiming you want to help me, when I spent all those years alone. You're too late, Harry Hart."

She snatched her jacket off the seat. She was practically shaking, and she avoided Harry's gaze as she clambered out of the booth. "Bex-" he tried, reaching out a hand.

"Don't," she whispered harshly, pushing his hand away. Bex pushed her way out of the pub, ignoring Harry's protests. She rubbed her eyes angrily, furious with herself for just spilling her sob story to some stranger in a pub. She could hear his footsteps following behind her, but she kept walking. Suddenly, someone grabbed her arm. Bex pulled her hand out of their firm grip angrily. As she turned around, she was faced with a group of four young men, each with broader shoulders and more tattoos than the last.

"Can I help you?" Bex asked, her voice weary.

"This is 'er! This is the bitch who trashed Benny's cruiser," the tallest man said gruffly, as he pointed an accusing finger at her.

"Benny's cruiser?" she said with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, Benny's cruiser. He's my brother. An' you stole his car and fucked it up," he said threateningly.

"Fucked it up like your face got fucked up?" she said before she could help it. Bex knew a fight was the last thing she needed right now, but the anger from her argument with Harry was still boiling in her veins.

"Excuse me?" he asked, taking a menacing step forward.

"Nothing, just wondering how you're standing here in front of me. I thought Neanderthals didn't exist anymore."

"You little-" He lunged forward, but Bex stood there unflinchingly.

Then Harry was stepping in front of her, putting an arm across her chest like he was trying to protect her.

"I'll handle this," he said in a serious voice, and if it hadn't been for the four men towering threateningly over her, Bex probably would've laughed.

"Aw, you need your old granddaddy to take care of you?" the man mocked. His face twisted up in a sneer. "Little bitch-"

"That's quite enough," Harry interrupted, a serene expression on his face. "I'd prefer if you refrained from using such vulgar terms."

He stepped forward, holding his umbrella at his side. The man looked to his friends, grinning through crooked teeth. "You're makin' this too easy," he chuckled, and surged forward to punch him in the jaw.

Harry grabbed his fist, stopping it inches from his face, and held it there calmly. Bex felt her jaw drop as she watched Harry, who had to be at least fifty years old, twist his wrist with ease. There was a crack and the man cried out in pain, then he roared in anger, lurching towards Harry at the same time as the other three men charged forward.

He used the slim, black, umbrella to strike one of the men, and he fell the ground with a sickening crack. Harry knocked the knees out from under one man, flipping him over his back until he landed on the concrete. He punched him until his nose ran scarlet, while fending off the attacks of the other two men. He was a blur, using moves Bex had only even seen in movies.

A few more swift blows and the rest of them lay crumpled on the ground. Only the leader of the thugs remained, facing off against Harry with his lip curled back to reveal cracked, yellowing teeth. His tattoos rippled as he flexed his arms, circling Harry like a predator sizing up its prey.

Then, his fingers moved almost imperceptibly to the waistband of his pants and Bex saw the glint of light on metal. She opened her mouth to cry out and warn Harry, but it was too late and the knife was sailing through the air. With a movement so fast Bex nearly missed it, Harry flipped his umbrella up. The knife lodged itself in the handle with a heavy thud, inches from Harry's face. He grabbed the knife and pulled it out, looking at it with mild interest, the hurled it back at the ringleader. It pinned his jacket to the wall, leaving him trapped.

Harry walked up to him slowly. He glanced down at his heavy gold watch, pressing the knob on the side, then held it up to the man's face. Bex watched in amazement as his face went slack and he slumped forward, his head lolling to his shoulder. Harry turned slowly with a sigh as if the whole thing had been nothing more than a nuisance, straightening the cuffs of his suit and fixing the collar of his shirt. He surveyed the damage he had caused, before turning to Bex.

He opened his mouth, but before he could utter a word, Bex shoved him roughly. "What the hell was that, Harry?"

"Me saving you? A thank you would be greatly appreciated."

"Saving me? I don't want you help! I don't need anyone to fight my battles for me!" she said angrily.

"Yes you do," Harry said quietly. "You don't have to be so terribly brave all the time, Bex. Everyone needs someone sometimes."

She glared at him a moment until she felt her anger ebb and the tension leave her shoulders. "Maybe," she sighed.

She lowered her eyes, and noticed the dark stain spreading across the gray fabric of Harry's arm with a jolt. "You're bleeding!" she exclaimed, grabbing his wrist.

He tried to shrug his arm of her grasp, but she refused. "Here. Let's go get you patched up."

He tried to protest, but she cut him off. "What happened to 'everyone needs someone', huh? Right now, you need me, unless you'd prefer to just bleed out here in the alley. Which I'm fine with, but I'm trying to be nice."

"Is that a new thing for you?"

"Don't be an ass," she grumbled, pulling him across the street towards her flat.

Bex unlocked the door carefully, praying her mother had gone out. When she pushed it open she was greeted was an empty living room, the clink of her keys echoing through the hazy air. She breathed out a sigh of relief, then opened the door further to reveal an awkward-looking Harry Hart.

"Home sweet home," she said, not bothering to disguise the bitterness in her voice. "Come on in."

She led him to the bathroom. He sat on the edge of the rust-stained tub as Bex opened the mirrored cabinet in the bathroom. The glass, which had been shiny and reflective when they had first moved in, was now gray and clouded, streaked with water stains. She rummaged around inside, ignoring the unopened bottles of antidepressants and her empty Adderall prescriptions. Patricia had stopped taking her medication years ago, and Bex had stopped trying to get her to. She leaned against the cracked sink to reach the first-aid kit she kept in the back.

"Here we go," said Bex, flipping it over to reveal the faded, red cross. "This thing has helped me out in some tough scrapes."

She grinned. "Pun intended."

Bex rinsed the blood from thin cut on his arm, then carefully applied some antiseptic. It was deeper than she had thought.

"I think this is going to need stitches. I don't have any anesthesia, so just...don't cry, I guess?"

She ignored the look Harry shot her, carefully cleaning the needle. She threaded a piece of medical thread through it, then tied a knot. She worked quickly, pushing the needle in and out of his skin until there was a short row of neat stitches. Harry didn't make a noise, just watched her work.

"You're good at this stuff," he remarked.

"Thanks. This is what I wanted to do. Be a doctor, I mean. I was going to get a medical degree at Oxford, but that didn't exactly work out," said Bex with a half-smile.

Harry sat quietly, and Bex was grateful he hadn't commented on the empty beer cans that littered the floor or the thick pile of yellowing, unpaid, bills that covered the kitchen counter. The silence felt thick and heavy, weighted down with the tension from their earlier conversation.

She let out a long breath. "Harry, I...I'm sorry. For what I said earlier. Thank you for helping me out back there."

Harry smiled at her. "It's all right, Bex. I said some things that I shouldn't have. I do want to help you, you know."

"I know," she said softly, feeling something tighten in her chest. She smiled at him, stuffing the gauze and needle back into the kit. She clapped her hands together. "That should hold you for a while."

"Thank you, Bex. Listen, if you ever need anything- a favor, someone to talk to, anything at all- I'm here. I'm here for you. If you want to find me, come to my tailor shop on Savile Row."

Bex felt a pang shoot through her chest. She knew why there was a hard lump in her throat and her eyes were stinging.

Harry was acting like her father.

She nodded. He put his coat back on, and picked up his umbrella. She walked him to the door and waved until he disappeared down the steps. Bex shut the door and slumped against it slightly, feeling the exhaustion of the day press down on her shoulders. She pulled herself up to walk over to the couch and sit on it, leaning her head back against the rough corduroy and letting out a deep breath. It had been a long day.

Bex could already feel her eyelids starting to close as she yawned.  She twisted the ring on her finger, thinking about what Harry had said about her dad.

She'd barely known her father, but she still missed him. She couldn't remember much of him except his laugh. She could still hear his laugh ringing if she shut her eyes. Maybe if he'd still been alive she could've had two parents, instead of none. A family instead of an empty chair and the smell of liquor.

As Bex lay her head on the couch, she fell into a dreamless sleep, comforted by distant memories of mugs of warm milk and kisses on foreheads.

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a quick note:

greetings from hell. i love my mom, but i don't love her banjo music played for eight hours straight. if she plays 'cotton-eyed joe' one more time i'm going to pull a sherlock and jump off a building. anyway, thanks for reading and putting up with my stupid author's notes