I walk out of the fitting room in my new Kingsman suit. I look at my reflection, scrutinizingly, checking every detail of myself for blemishes. The phone at the main desk rings shrilly, and I jump, not expecting such sudden noise. I don't see the man who normally works here, so I approach the phone and bring it to my ear, reciting what the man usually says.
"Customer Complaints, how may I help you?"
A very tired and exasperated sounding young man answers. "My name's Eggsy Unwin. Sorry, Gary Unwin. And I'm up shit creek. I'm in Holborn police station, and my Mum said to call this number if I ever needed help."
Unwin, Unwin. That was the name of the guy that saved my father's life seventeen years ago. The guy he owes his life to.
Memories come flooding in like a tidal wave.
"And then there's one last thing." My father says, staring at me from across the table.
Ten year old me leans forward eagerly, ready to hear more, something exciting to end my first class.
"Now you probably won't ever need to use this, but just in case..." He holds my gaze importantly.
"You will be spending a lot of time at the tailor store, as you already know. So if you ever get a call when you're there, from someone who claims they are owed a favour, this is what you do."
I shrank back, underwhelmed by this new information. I had been hoping for something else, something like how to shoot a gun, or how to outsmart a bad guy. That, well back then that was nothing.
"They will claim they need a favour, but unless they provide the code words, you tell them it's a wrong number. The words are: 'Oxfords not brogues.' Do you understand?"
"Yeah." I said, dejected.
"If they provide those words, you tell them their complaint has been noted, and immediately message me their location and I will go to them. Understand?"
"Yes, but how will I know their location?"
His eye twinkles. "You'll learn how to find that soon enough."
It's been eight years, and I most certainly do know how to do that.
"I'm sorry, wrong number." I recite, hoping he'll provide me with the code so I can prove to my ten-year-old self that I turn out okay.
"Wait wait!" He stalls, and I hold my breath, waiting for it. "Oxfords, not brogues?"
It comes out as a question, but goddamit it's right. I try to hide the smile from my voice.
"Your complaint has been duly noted. And we hope we have not lost you as a customer."
I hang up before I can hear his response, immediately taking out my tablet from my bag.
Holburn police station is a five-minute drive away from here, and it takes three to get from the headquarters to the store. Harry can get to him in less than ten minutes.
I send him a transmission with the coordinates, name of the boy and predicament, and shove the tablet back into my bag, practically running to the tube so I can get back to headquarters still with the feeling of success.
I hope Harry is proud of me, for remembering something so long ago and acting perfectly on it.
[552 words]
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mission thirty nine ~ eggsy unwin
FanfictionY/N Hart completed thirty-eight successful missions before her thirty-ninth one went haywire. Not because it was a failure, technically the mission went perfectly, but because for the first time in her career she let herself become distracted, by a...
