The Secret Service [KINGSMAN]

xvii. NEEDLE AND THREAD

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.