SEVENTEEN.
NEEDLE AND THREAD

Bex sat on the floor of May's one room flat, mending a tear in her jacket sleeve.

She liked sewing. The simple action of passing the thread over and under the cloth calmed the torrent of thoughts tumbling through her head. She felt the same clarity when she picked up a scalpel or a needle. Bex liked keeping her hands busy, especially if it meant fixing something or someone.

It was freezing without heat, and the cracked linoleum felt like ice under her bare feet. May's flat wasn't much, but Bex still felt more at home there than she ever had at her own flat. She'd been staying there for the past few weeks, but it was already getting time to move on and find a new place to crash.

The pale morning sky was just starting to leak in through the bars hammered over the windows. Without May, the flat seemed emptier and quieter than usual. But for the first time in two weeks, Bex was calm. Her hands had stopped shaking in this brief moment as she passed the needle through the fabric of her jacket.

Ever since she had left Kingsman, Bex had been restless. Before, the brutal training and endless hours of concentration had channeled her nervous energy into determination to succeed. Now that she had failed, she couldn't keep it at bay. Her hands trembled constantly. Her eyes darted around in a blur. Her thoughts refused to focus. Without Kingsman, without her friends, without him, she had lost herself.

Bex had taken to sleeping on a thin, dirty mattress in the corner of May's flat during the day and roaming the streets at night. After nights of laying her head back and squeezing her eyes shut, praying to fall asleep, she had given up. Even with the hum of the city outside, it seemed too quiet without the sound of Roxy's soft breathing and Eggsy's rumbling snores. She ached for the scratchy sheets and the familiar weight of Percy at the end of her cot.

The night had become a refuge for her thoughts. Before, Bex hated walking the streets at night. The dark turned buildings into a shadowy backdrop for a violent play. Even the air took on a different quality, thicker and stifling. But now, Merlin had taught Bex to protect herself against the creatures of the night. Things were easier without the light of day, her nerves calmer.

The sun was rising and Bex let out a yawn. She had spent most of the night climbing the rooftops until she could see Big Ben, the clock tower standing proudly over its city. On her way back, she had torn her sleeve on a loose nail. Now that it had been mended, however, Bex began to feel her eyelids get heavy with exhaustion. She had pulled herself up off the floor, ready to curl up on the mattress, when there were three sharp raps on the front door.

Bex froze. The nervous energy returned, igniting her veins and quickening the beat of her heart. She edged towards the door slowly. She pulled it open a crack, preparing herself for whoever might be waiting on the other side. A brown eye, hidden behind a pair of black spectacles, blinked back at her.

"Hello, Bex."

Harry Hart was impeccably dressed as always. His hands were folded neatly over his signature black umbrella, his shiny oxford clad foot tapping patiently. He smiled at her pleasantly.

As soon as her eyes met his, she tried to slam the door shut. Harry stuck an arm out, the wood closing on it instead. He yelped as the door struck him. Bex kept the door shut, sandwiching his arm between the door and its frame.

"Good morning to you too, Bex," Harry said in a strangled voice. "This is really a rather unpleasant greeting on your part."

"Tough shit," she said sharply. "Stop following me."

"Bex," he winced. "If you wouldn't mind opening the door, please. I just want to have a word with you."

"Yeah, I know. You've told me that exact same thing every time you've popped up in the last two weeks. There are really better hobbies than stalking people you know."

"Bex..."

"Stamp collecting. Fishing. Scrap booking."

"Bex!"

"There's got to be something better than following around teenage girls. Oh, modern dance maybe?"

"Bex."

"Fine."

Bex pulled the door open the rest of the way, glaring at the man waiting on her doorstep. Harry let out a sigh of relief, grabbing his forearm. He rubbed it and looked at her reproachfully.

"I think you may have broken my arm," he said after a long pause.

"Good. What do you want?" Bex said, folding her arms across her chest.

"I've told you, Bex. I just want to talk. May I please come in?"

She stared at him for a second defiantly before relenting. She let out a huff as she undid the locks and stepped back. Harry stepped in, his eyes darting around the bare contents of the flat. He looked entirely out of place, and Bex was reminded once again how different their lives were.

"Well?" she prompted him. "You didn't track me down buying milk last week to stand in silence did you?"

Harry's gaze shifted towards her. His eyes were bright and filled with questions she didn't want to answer.

"I only have one question for you, Bex," Harry said softly. "Why did you leave?"

"I failed the challenge-"

"We both know that's not why you ran."

She hated the way he was looking at her, like he could see right past her. The need to move flared in her chest. Her hands traveled from the nape of her neck to her sides to her thighs where they began to tap out the a familiar, dizzying rhythm. Her skin itched. She needed to get out of this room.

"Bex, what are you so afraid of?" Harry said more insistently.

"It's not fear. I'm not afraid," she said quietly.

"It is fear. You move on from everything too quickly, constantly in motion. What do you think is going to happen if you stop? Bex, why do you keep running?"

"I don't know!" she burst out. "I don't know!"

She looked at him, looked at the creases of worry around her eyes. He was concerned for her and she couldn't stand it.

"I lied to you," she said, after a beat of silence had passed. "That story I told you? About Oxford? I lied. The scar, the bottle, my mother, that was all real. But it happened I was fourteen and I was just trying to run away from home. My mother didn't try to stop me from going to Oxford. I'm the one who turned down the scholarship."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because I couldn't go. What if I wasn't enough?"

"Bex, you are-"

"No, Harry. What if I'm not enough and will never be enough? What if I'm not smart enough to be a doctor? What if I'm not strong enough to be a Kingsman agent? What if I'm not kind enough to be loved? I'll never be what people need me to be. When I was at Kingsman, everyone started to build expectations of me. And expectations are only chances to disappoint."

"So that's why you keep running? A fear of rejection, of failure. Bex, you'll never leave anything behind if you don't slow down."

"I've already left behind what I always do. Damage."

That aching energy was rising in her chest, and she desperately needed to get away from him. She just needed to get away. Her hands clenched into fists, until Harry reached out and laid a hand on her arm. Bex jerked involuntarily, but he didn't move.

"Bex, stop. Just stop. Breathe."

The calm insistence of his voice washed over her, dampening the sound of the hundreds of thoughts firing through her brain. She took a deep breath, then another. Her fingers slowly released, uncurling away from her palms.

"Why am I like this, Harry?" she asked bitterly. "Something's wrong inside my head."

"You've been through a hell of a lot, Bex. Your thoughts became twisted by years of people saying you would never amount to anything. You've had to fight all your life, and the thought of anything being easy in your life is too much to imagine now."

"So what now? What do I do now? I'm still...I'm still..."

Bex felt a lump in her throat rise, blocking the words she was trying to utter. Harry's hand still hadn't left her shoulder.

"What was it your father used to say? It's not the way you fall it's the way you land. It's not failure that speaks to your character, Bex. It's how you handle what comes after it. You must land on your feet. You must learn to accept the consequences of your actions. And you must accept the love that you are offered. You are worthy of it."

Bex stared at him for a moment. Harry's eyes were soft and kind behind his glasses, and there was no tell to indicate he was lying. Silence filled the air between them. Neither spoke.

"That was really bloody inspiring, Harry," Bex finally said with a half smile. "You should do that for a living instead. Be, like, a motivational speaker or something."

"Thank you," Harry said graciously. "I've had lots of practice."

"Lot of teenagers with poorly-timed puns and self-destructive tendencies come your way?"

"Constantly. It must be that ad I put out in the paper. Man seeking teenagers to live in underground bunker and handle weaponry. Must be willing to sacrifice any and all limbs."

Bex laughed.

"Er- Speaking of the candidates. How is...everyone doing?" Bex asked, trying to sound casual.

Harry shot her a knowing look and Bex blushed.

"Roxy's done exceptionally well. She's our newest agent, the next Lancelot. Rose is still working as our technician. Eggsy... Well, Eggsy went home. When you left, Bex, I think you took part of him with you. He just wasn't the same, like the life had left his body and all that remained was a ghost of him."

She swallowed hard. "I didn't mean to-"

"You knew what you were doing, Bex. That boy loved you in every way someone can love another person. As a friend, as a teammate, and maybe as something else."

Harry's eyes searched her face.

"You should go see him. He's back at home. Bex, I know you don't think you need anyone, but don't let him go just for the sake of pride. He's worth more than that."

She found herself nodding. "Okay. I-I will. I'll talk to him."

Harry allowed himself a brief smile, before his face slipped back into its mask of quiet severity.

"What?" she asked, apprehensively.

He hesitated slightly.

"You know I believe in you, right? I wouldn't have picked you if I didn't think you couldn't handle it. And those people who told you that you couldn't? Your mother, your teachers, Arthur...Well, fuck them. You can, and you will."

Bex stayed silent.

"If you ever wanted to go back to school and finish your medical training, we could use an extra hand in the hospital ward," he added tentatively.

He watched her face carefully. Something in her chest bloomed, something that felt suspiciously like hope. She couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face.

"You really mean that?" she asked, barely able to mask the elation in her voice.

"I do-"

Harry didn't finish his sentence, because Bex had thrown herself at him. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder, squeezing him tightly in a crushing hug. For a second, he stood in shock before lifting his arms slowly to encase her.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice muffled by the fabric of his suit. "Just- thank you. For all of it. Since the beginning."

"You're welcome," he said.

When she finally released him there was a blindingly bright smile on her face. Bex felt hope spread through her chest and lift her heart. There was still a chance. She still had a chance.

"I have to see someone," she said, amazed. "I have to go."

"Goodbye, Bex."

She called out a hasty goodbye as she grabbed her jacket off the floor and ran towards the door, nearly tripping over her own feet.

"Oh! Hang on! I haven't got his address!"

Harry rattled it off and she popped back outside with a manic grin.

"Bye, Harry. See you soon, old man!"

She cast him one last glance before ducking out and racing down the steps.

Slowly, she was mending the broken seams. Stitch by stitch. Needle and thread, pulling the pieces of her life together.

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a quick note:

more short useless chapters because i love my old man™ harry and my tiny angsty daughter™ bex and i especially love father daughter bonding time™