Chapter Text
It was after Dining Hall and before Lights Out when Eggsy was cornered. He was sitting crosslegged on his cot with JB curled at his feet when Charlie and his stooges surrounded him.
“So, Eggy—practicing to be a maid?” snickered Charlie.
Digby chimed in, “Yeah, what the fuck are you doing?”
Eggsy paused with his needle and thread in the air, and looked at them with the contempt they deserved. “What the fuck you think I’m doing? Ain’t ya got eyes in your head?”
“It looks like you’re . . . sewing.” Hugo said, almost puzzled.
“Good observation. They’ll make a spy out of you yet.” Eggsy carefully threaded his needle through the shank of a button.
“But why are you sewing?" Hugo went on, apparently not fathoming anyone doing such a thing.
Roxy, coming in from the showers said, “You idiots. He’s just sewing a button back on. Leave him alone.”
***
It had happened earlier that day during a run through the obstacle course. The button on the breast pocket of Eggsy’s siren suit got caught on some wire, tearing the placket slightly and popping the button off. Eggsy continued on through the course, (beating out everyone else’s run time, natch) but went back later to look for the button.
He then went looking for a needle and thread, which was, surprisingly, pretty easy. After a strange look from Merlin, he was directed to a room on the third floor of the mansion, which held all sorts of tailoring paraphernalia, including needles and threads in several different sizes and colors. Eggsy eyed the rows of sewing machines with speculation, but contented himself with picking out the right thread to match his suit.
***
Eggsy looked up at his fellow candidates and the varying expressions of scorn, confusion, and support (by Roxy). He noticed more than a couple of missing buttons, torn belt loops, stains, and sagging trouser hems after several weeks of hard training. Even Roxy had two torn belt loops. Eggsy’s two Kingsman-issued siren suits on the other hand, were, if not pristine, at least whole and clean.
“Where did you learn to do that?” said Roxy mildly, shooting a glare at the guys.
“Maybe his dad really was a tailor. Is that why you’re here, Eggy?” Charlie’s tone was snide, as usual.
Rolling his eyes, Eggsy said, “Unlike you lot, normal people don’t throw away their clothes ‘cause of missing a button. They repair ‘em.” He scoffed. “Even in the marines, we were expected to care for our own kit ourselves. What’s your excuse?”
Although he tried not to let it get about, Eggsy took pride in keeping his clothes neat and clean. He had little enough anyway, and taking good care of what he had helped him get him through the bad times growing up. Even in his chav wear, Eggsy was always neatly put together: polos buttoned, jeans or trackies clean and fitting exactly the way he wanted, trainers blinding white, snapback canted just so. It was a kind of armour against the world (and didn't Eggsy appreciate the irony of that now). The second thing he did (after sending some money to his mum) when he realized that the Kingsman candidates actually got paid a fairly generous stipend during their months of training, was to buy some Jeremy Scott togs and the winged trainers. Okay, so he got them off Ebay and he couldn’t be 100 percent positive they were authentic, but they were aces anyway. Eggsy also couldn’t deny that the Kingsman suits were pretty fantastic – at least the way Harry wore them. He hoped he got the chance to wear one himself.
Eggsy shook his head in exasperation. “How d’ya hope to wear the, uh, ‘modern gentleman’s armour’ if it looks like shite? What if you’re out in the field and your suit gets torn up before you can finish your mission. You just gonna let it flap around?”
“But – that’s what the actual tailors are for,” Digby protested.
“Yeah, and we’re supposed to be fuckin’ tailors, ain’t we?” Eggsy snapped the thread with his teeth, and pulled on the button to make sure it was secure. “And no, my father weren't a tailor. He was a Royal Marine. And a Kingsman—or near as. He was killed at the end of his training. “
The others looked at each other nervously. Charlie said, “The training killed him?” They knew their first parachute dive was coming up.
“Nah, it was on a mission. They tell me Da jumped on a grenade, saving the lives of the other Kingsman agents there.” Glaring at Charlie, Eggsy said, “and that’s how I got here, ya wanker. Not sucking the dick of my sponsor like you lot.” Glancing at Roxy, he clarified, “Not talking ‘bout you, Rox, ‘course.”
“In fact,” Merlin announced, startling the group who hadn’t seen him come into the barracks, “he saved my life, and two others that day.” Merlin nodded toward Eggsy. “Lee Unwin would have made a fine Kingsman agent, and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.”
The boys looked pretty surprised at that, glancing at Eggsy with a grudging respect; even Charlie. Apparently the pleb had as much right to be there as any of them – maybe more.
“Now,” Merlin clapped his hands together, “line up for surprise inspection. Let’s see how good you are at taking care of your equipment.”
He winked at Eggsy where the others couldn’t see. Eggsy, of course, passed the inspection with flying colors. The others were all sent on late night field exercises and were forced to continue their training the next day on no sleep--training which took place in the room on the third floor with all the sewing machines. Eggsy was the only one not surprised.