* * *
Back in her suite at the Statesman building in New York, Roxy swiftly folded and stowed the few things she brought with her on this trip in a Kingsman suitcase, her thoughts busy. Working with Statesman was proving an education on a number of levels- as a relatively new Kingsman agent, Roxy was aware there was a great deal of information she wasn't privy to, but until she encountered Statesman she hadn't really appreciated how compartmentalized her agency really was. And how little she really knew about... everything! How on earth had it not occurred to her before now to wonder where Kingsman got all that wonderful technology? Such incredible equipment?
One of Eggsy's jokes came uncomfortably to mind- he teased her about being such a nob she didn't even know where her toilet paper came from, and probably never bought a roll in her life. They both laughed about it at the time when she admitted it was true, but this turn of events had Roxy wondering uncomfortably if maybe she wasn't a lot more limited by her upbringing than she had any idea. She couldn't afford that kind of tunnel vision as an agent!
She would have felt worse, but she'd been watching the same thing happen to Harry in his new role as head of Kingsman. After the purge, the ranks of Kingsman were down to five upper-level members- Harry as agency head, herself, Eggsy and Tequila as field agents, and Merlin, who was currently operating as a de-facto agent and their entire field support staff. With so few to undertake the nearly complete rebuild of Kingsman and no time right now to recruit and train new agents, they were all of necessity covering a lot more responsibilities than ever before in Kingsman's history.
Hell, she was essentially functioning as second in command of Kingsman now; the management and administration skills she learned running an estate had Harry piling everything he could possibly offload onto her shoulders as they fought to get Kingsman back on an even keel. Eggsy and Tequila were helping all they could, but neither of them had her flair for organization or could handle the intricacies of orchestrating all these random resources back into a cohesive unit half as well as she could.
And right after discovering a hitherto forgotten brother agency to Kingsman, suddenly here was Challenger! A third private intelligence agency -as a bloody sideline!- and more importantly a scientific research foundation unparalleled in the world. If one tenth of the old Fleet Street stories about the Challengers were true -hell, she held dinosaur hide boots in her hands yesterday!- they were every bit a match for Kingsman or Statesman and probably had a whole raft of surprises she couldn't even begin to guess at!
Roxy closed her suitcase and decided what she needed most right now was recon- hers. She and Ginger were headed straight for the third Challenger heir, and she could learn more with direct contact than any other way... and maybe run interference -just a little- for Merlin. She knew Merlin's tells, even if he protested he didn't have any, and she hadn't missed the way the corners of his lips tightened slightly when Rafe was teasing Ginger. Well, however great Rafael was, in her opinion Ginger couldn't do better than Merlin, and she could always make sure her new friend didn't let the quiet charm of a Kingsman be eclipsed by the glamour of a Challenger.
Roxy grinned as she shrugged into her coat, shouldered her travel bag and grabbed her suitcase. So Statesman's fancy jet was all that, hummn? Well, it sounded like a great time for another extended girl talk, as far as she was concerned! And if she greeted Rafael with a kiss that dropped him to his knees first, maybe she could keep him distracted for a bit while Merlin got off his damned ass and did something about his feelings for Ginger.
* * *
In his office in the plush apartment converted from the chapter house of the old cathedral, Jean-Pierre leaned back and considered the readouts on the bank of monitors in front of him.
"What do you think, mi hermano?" Sprawled comfortably in a swivel chair in Challenger's second 'personal' jet, Rafael smiled fondly over the video link at his sibling.
For all they were cousins, not brothers, after being raised together since Rafe was ten -when their parents were killed- he could not love Jean-Pierre more if they were brothers in truth. The oldest of their trio, Jean-Pierre inherited in full the stunning diplomatic and political acumen that characterized Paul d'Arnot, one of the four founders of the Challenger clan, and given what was going on with their Marissa and the very same Agent Whiskey their adoptive father, Champ, had tied himself in knots for the past decade to keep apart, Rafe wanted to hear what his big brother had to say about all of it.
"You may dismiss the majority of your concerns as to Jack, mon frère," Jean-Pierre told him, looking thoughtful as he considered everything discussed during Rafe's unexpected conference with Ginger, Lancelot and Merlin. "He is quite sincerely enamored of our darling sib, and while I foresee some difficulties when he discovers our family connection to both Kingsman and Statesman, I am confident we can sort them out." He favored Rafe with a sardonic grin. "I will not, however, rule out the possibility we may be forced to tie him down and batter him with truths until he comes to his senses."
Rafe broke into laughter. "Who can we recruit to help tie him down? Tequila's in, I'm sure."
Jean-Pierre chuckled right along with him. "No doubt. And how is our favorite rodeo clown settling down to life as a Kingsman?"
Rafael snickered. "Judging from the expressions of the good Merlin and the just-in-passing quite stunning Agent Lancelot, it has not been without... friction."
Jean-Pierre raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Looking forward to finally meeting your sleeping beauty in person?"
Rafael grinned sheepishly. "Very much. As sharp as she is, I can't imagine she won't have made the connection by the time we all reach Bern."
"I look forward to hearing the tale of your first meeting." Jean-Pierre tapped the leather desk blotter in front of him, still turning over all the implications in his mind. "What about Uncle Enzo?"
Rafael's expression lightened. "Put your mind at ease, the lovely Ginger Ale was kind enough to forward all his medical information and test results, and I've already got the lab in Bern sequencing his genome for a specialized retroviral treatment. But damn it, JP, if Enzo had the good sense to come to us first instead of trying to hide it, the cancer couldn't even have progressed this far."
Jean-Pierre snorted. "Have no mercy, mon frère. Tell our beloved sib Uncle Enzo is putting himself in danger rather than treat us as adults and equals, and she will flay the skin from his bones with her reproaches, then pour salt water into the wounds with her tears."
Rafael chuckled. "You are evil, mi hermano. Will do! But what do you think about the news someone is trying to re-establish Poppy's network?"
Jean-Pierre's expression went bleak. "It's too soon, Rafe. First Valentine, then Poppy? The geopolitical situation is a bad joke right now. All it would take is a spark to start a firestorm that could ignite open war in any of two dozen countries. Champ has Statesman's best rapid-assessment team monitoring the current world situation constantly and every last one is, and I quote, 'jumpier than a long-tailed cat in a rocking chair factory'."
Rafael had to laugh in spite of the seriousness of the situation. "Damn, I love that man."
"So say we all," Jean-Pierre quipped. "His birthday is next month, by the way."
"What have you got planned?"
Jean-Pierre winked. "Since our darling sib will no doubt bring her new amour, I'm thinking three-day beach party at Blackbird Castle on San Pietro."
Rafael sat up with a jerk. "Blackbird Castle? The haunted one?"
Jean-Pierre chuckled. "Indeed. If Monsieur Jack wishes to join our jolly pirate crew, he should meet our family ghost, don't you think?"
Rafael leaned back in his chair, helpless with laughter. "Oh, Christ on a crutch, JP! Agent Whiskey versus Black Jack Savage? We should sell tickets."
"Pay-per-view, brother dear," Jean-Pierre said, buffing his nails on his shirt with airy unconcern. "I'm inviting all of Kingsman, by the way. I want to encourage more inter-agency cooperation between Kingsman, Statesman, and us."
Rafe got his hilarity under control. "Sounds good, even if we'll have to keep our clothes on. Harry and Merlin don't seem like the type to enjoy that... I bet Eggsy would, though."
"You can take Agent Lancelot's clothes off in private, little brother," Jean-Pierre said, thoroughly amused. "Should she so graciously decide to permit you the privilege. In passing, you are aware of the good Merlin's feelings as to our effervescent Ginger Ale?"
Rafael nodded. "I thought I caught something when we were talking. Merlin's got a pretty good poker face, but watch the corners of his mouth, they flatten out when he's stressed about something."
Jean-Pierre frowned thoughtfully- Champ taught them all to play poker as children, using it as a way to teach them the old mentalist tricks on how read faces and catch the miniscule 'tells' that all people had, whether they knew it or not. "And you intend to...?"
Rafael blew his breath out in a long, slow sigh. "I'll step back and let Merlin have the field for now, but brother mine... if he breaks Ginger's heart I'll damn well break his legs for it, Kingsman or not."
Jean-Pierre grinned savagely, the expression a literal rapier slash across his face. "Do you honestly think our darling sib will leave you so much as a shredded corpse to play with if that happens?"
Rafael laughed grimly. "Point taken. But Ris will let us hold her coat while she tears him to pieces, so I suppose I'll have to be content with that. Ladies first, after all."
"Manners maketh man," Jean-Pierre replied drolly. "Keep me informed, mon frère. I'll keep an eye on things from here, and take over for you and Ris while you're on mission."
"Done and done, mi hermano. I'll send this jet back to New York as soon as I get to Bern. I can use the one Ris has if we need transport."
"Keep it with you," Jean-Pierre disagreed. "If I need transport, I'll just use one of the research planes."
Rafael shrugged. "If you say so. But if you need it, sing out, Ris or I will send you one."
"I will. But be careful, Rafe. You're the only brother I've got." Jean-Pierre smiled fondly at the video image on his monitor. "And keep an eye on Rissa, little brother. You know how she gets when it's family, and she adores old Papa Enzo."
"Will do." Rafael grimaced comically. "How will we manage having to share our darling sib with a brother-in-law? We are the jealous type when it comes to our Rissa."
Jean-Pierre rolled his eyes. "Badly, I expect. But if Whiskey is really in love with Ris, and by all appearances he is, we will just have to cope."
"It must suck having to be the oldest and make all the sensible decisions."
"It does lack many of the benefits of being the youngest and most indulged," Jean-Pierre agreed with a mock sigh. "But such is my unlucky fate."
Rafael snickered. "You were born a Challenger, mi hermano. That's enough luck for one lifetime."
"An excellent point," Jean-Pierre agreed, amused again. "Get some sleep, mon frère. You'll need it."
"You too." Rafael cut the link, sighed and stretched as he stood up. At least he slept well on planes...
* * *
The next morning, Jack surveyed the trim little jet waiting on the tarmac at the private flight section of JFK airport and nodded in approval. From the look of it, his sugarplum and her cousin ran as tight an aviation operation as they did a club one.
"Right nice jet, sugarplum," Jack said, putting an arm around Marissa as she joined him after a brief discussion with the head mechanic, a lanky Japanese with a shy grin and a long length of shiny black hair incongruously knotted up in a traditional samurai clout.
"Thank you," Marissa said, leaning against his side. "It's one of my favorites, actually."
Curious, Jack looked down at her. "What is your favorite?"
"Favorite plane? Have you ever flown a Grumman G-21?"
Jack was genuinely astonished. "Sugarplum, have you got an old Goose? Hardly any of those old boys left flying."
"Around thirty, as far as I know." She grinned wickedly at Jack with an expression that would have made every other Statesman agent dive for cover. "Challenger owns two."
Jack stopped inspecting the plane and gathered Marissa into his arms. "Sugarplum, you're startin' to make me right curious. I don't generally pry into a lady's affairs, but you are just a fascinatin' little bundle o' mysteries."
Marissa stood on her toes and kissed his nose. "I seem to recall daring you to figure me out."
"Ain't gonna, sugarplum," Jack teased, but Marissa could tell he was dead serious despite his joking tone. "You'll tell me what you want, when you want, and it ain't none of my damn business until then." He kissed her back. "Long as you ain't one of the bad guys, sugarplum, we're good."
Marissa giggled, inordinately amused. "I am definitely one of the good guys, cowboy. In fact, in a lot of ways I'm one of the OG good guys."
Jack couldn't help laughing, wondering what Marissa would think when he broke the news about his real job at Statesman to her. "Are ya now, sugarplum?"
"Amusingly enough, yes. And if you don't hold my secrets against me, I won't hold yours against you. Do we have a deal?"
Jack stared down at Marissa, amazed to hear her voice his very thought from a moment before. "You got a deal, sugarplum."
"Good." Marissa cuddled into his embrace with a confiding little snuggle that melted yet another layer of his long-frozen heart, and overwhelmed with emotion, Jack crushed her against him.
"I love you, sugarplum," Jack muttered fiercely. "I purely and surely do love you."
Tears sparkled in Marissa's eyes and she clung to him, loving the feel of being held so close and tight. "I love you too, Jack. So much."
The head mechanic cleared his throat politely, distracting them both, and Marissa turned her head and smiled fondly at the lanky figure. "Yes, Ken?"
Ken eyed Jack curiously. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but neither Jack or Marissa were making any attempt to hide their conversation, and he and the rest of the flight crew were mightily interested in this flashy cowboy who so obviously stole their Miss Marissa's heart.
"I pulled a couple of strings for you, Miss Rissa," Ken replied. "One of the air traffic controllers on duty owes me a favor, and she slotted you into the departure lineup ninety minutes out. The Gulf's fueled up, checked out and ready to go, and we need to move the jet out onto the tarmac. We already filed your flight plan."
Marissa detached herself from Jack's embrace and exchanged a warm hug with Ken. "Thanks, Ken. Give the crew my love, and tell them thanks."
Ken hugged back, pleased and reassured to see Marissa so happy and in love. "You got it, Miss Rissa. Clear skies."
"Much obliged for the help, partner," Jack added, tipping his hat at Ken with a flourish.
Ken grinned back, deciding this cowboy might be provisionally okay- and after all, Miss Rissa didn't often make mistakes about people. "Anytime. Clear skies, Sky King."
Jack laughed like hell as he caught Marissa's hand and they jogged toward the waiting plane. "Ya got a damn good crew, sugarplum."
"Nothing but the best," Marissa agreed, leading the way up the narrow metal stairs.
The interior of the plane was furnished in an elegantly understated style Jack knew enough to recognize now, and as he followed Marissa into the cockpit he commented, "Jean-Pierre do all your decorating?"
Marissa chuckled as she fitted the headset over her ears. "Everything- Rafe and I can't even come close, so we don't even try. Nice, isn't it?"
"Damn sight better than nice, sugarplum," Jack told her, donning his own headset and watching Marissa's easy familiarity with the controls with sheer delight. All this and a damn good pilot, too! He was so head over heels in love with this amazing woman!
Jack felt the clank as the pushback tug clamped onto the front of the jet and began towing them out of the hangar.
Marissa continued down her preflight checklist with the ease of long practice. "Please tell the tower we're moving into position, cowboy?"
"Whatever you say, cap'n sugarplum," Jack teased, and reached for the radio.
* * *
In Statesman headquarters in Kentucky, Champagne sat alone in his darkened office, an untouched bottle of Statesman's finest and an empty rock glass centered in the single circle of light that illuminated the desk in front of him... and brooded.
The monitor screen on the wall chirped and sprang to life, and Harry's features appeared on the screen. Startled to find Champ in his office, Harry nodded politely. "I wasn't expecting to find you still in your office, Champ. I thought I'd be leaving a vid-mail." Harry flicked a glance at the clock and calculated time changes. "Some reason why you're drinking alone in your office at four am, old chap?"
Champ eyed Harry and blew out a long, slow breath. Harry Hart was the closest thing he had to a peer, and there was no denying he desperately wanted to talk this over with someone who could offer him an informed but impartial opinion.
"Pour yerself a drink, pardner," Champ said heavily, reaching out and pouring himself a stiff double. "I... would appreciate yer opinion."
Harry's eyebrow lifted, but he obliged, collecting a bottle -not Kingsman scotch, Champ was amused to notice, but Armagnac brandy- and a glass, returning to his desk and pouring a companion drink. Harry cradled the glass in his hands and waited.
"How much do you know?" Champ asked abruptly, but Harry had no trouble understanding the terse request.
"You have a relationship with the Challenger heirs that goes back to a personal relationship with the previous Marissa Challenger," Harry said calmly, "and for reasons of your own you have exerted every effort for at least ten years and probably longer to keep the current Marissa and Agent Whiskey apart, and this fact is apparently quite well known to everyone but Marissa and Whiskey. But despite your best efforts, they have at last met, and by all accounts are quite enamored of each other."
Champ snorted and downed a generous dollop of whiskey into his glass, relaxing a trifle. "Should a' known better'n ta ask you that, pardner," he said with a reluctant chuckle.
"So why?" Harry said, deciding the best course of action with Champ was to cut straight to the heart of the matter, and taking a discreet swallow of his brandy as subtle encouragement. "Why did you do it?"
Champ let out another long, slow breath. "Rissa... she's just like her mother," he said, shaking his head. "She takes things to heart... takes people to heart. Harry, I loved that little girl's ma like I never loved any other woman in my whole damn life." Champ took a second hard swallow of whiskey. "When... when the accident happened... Rissa, Jean-Pierre and Rafe's parents were all coming back from a ski trip together. The blasted drunk that hit 'em sent their car right down the whole dang mountainside. Weren't nothing left but ashes when the rescue choppers finally got to 'em." Champ downed the rest of his glass and poured another. "I... I was closest to Rissa when we got the news. I wasn't havin' no one else break the news to her, but Harry... I swear ta God I've never done anythin' harder."
Harry stilled, sensing something more than just old grief was weighing Champ down. "I'm sure your presence was a great comfort to her."
Champ just grunted, but his white-knuckled grip on the glass eased. "Rissa cried in my arms all night, poor lil' thing... finally cried herself to sleep... but Harry, the little girl I loved so much died that day just as sure as her folks did. When she opened her eyes the next morning, she weren't my lil' Rissa no more... she was Marissa Challenger the fourth, the head of the Challenger Company, and she was damn well gonna live up to that responsibility. She was never a child again after that day."
Harry matched Champ as he took another drink but said nothing, silently encouraging Champ to continue.
"I watched the light in her eyes go out that night, pardner," Champ said heavily, "and it damn well broke my heart. I never wanna see that look in her eyes again, Harry. I would do anythin' to prevent it."
"And Agent Whiskey...?" Harry prompted.
"Whiskey could break her heart," Champ spat, his knuckles turning white around the glass again as he downed another swallow. "Would break her heart."
"A harsh assessment," Harry observed, taking another drink to keep Champ company and feeling the brandy's warmth spreading through his muscles.
"Jack weren't the same man after his wife died... somethin' in him died with her, too. He's a good agent... and he ain't a bad man or he damn well wouldn't be a Statesman, but..." Champ looked disgusted. "Aw, hell, Harry, when it comes to women, Whiskey's a low-down dirty snake and there ain't no other way ta say it." Champ threw back the remainder of his glass in a gulp and refilled it a third time. "He'd a taken one look at my lil' Rissa and he'd a treated her just the way he treats every woman now. Played w' her an' kicked 'er to the curb when he got bored- wouldn't a thought nothin' of it, neither." Champ shook his head. "But it wouldn't a been a game fer Marissa- I know my lil' Rissa better'n anyone in the whole dang world, even better'n her brothers. That lil' gal'll give her whole heart jes' once, and if it gits broken she won't... she won't git over it. That light'll go out of her eyes and it won't ever come back. Jes' like before."
Champ raised his face to look into the vid pickup directly and Harry nearly recoiled from the hell of thwarted, helpless fury boiling his eyes, the terrible memory hiding behind it. "And Harry, I will purely and surely kill him for it, if'n they hang me from the nearest tree."
All the pieces fell into place in Harry's mind like a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle assembling itself right in front of him, and his own heart ached with shared sorrow. "And you know that because you're the one who broke her mother's heart," Harry finished very quietly, "and you've never forgiven yourself."
Champ's shoulders slumped in defeat but a wry chuckle escaped him in spite of it, and he saluted Harry with his glass before draining it. "Really shoulda known better'n to try'n keep a secret from you, pardner." He topped off his glass and Harry had to do the same, even matching Champ with sips instead of gulps his own glass was empty.
"I was a damn fool drunk an' I did her wrong," Champ said heavily. "She forgave me, cause that's who she was, but... she couldn't forget. She tried... aw, Harry, how she tried! I could see it tearin' her to pieces she couldn't, so I finally told her enough. There weren't no comin' back from what I'd done. Rissa's father... he was a good man, better'n me by a long shot, and Rissa's ma loved him, but... not like she loved me." Champ sighed and set his glass down on the desk, staring ruefully at the half-empty glass. "Harry, it's been thirty years an' more since I've taken a real drink- ain't done more'n swill and spit to this very night, but... what the hell do I do now, pardner? I can't live w' what's gonna happen, and... I might kill Whiskey when it does."
Harry exhaled very slowly. He had never spoken a word of what he was about to say, not to anyone, but he was perhaps the only person in the world who could give Champ the answers he so desperately needed right now. "Champ, are you sure Whiskey is the same man he was?"
Champ's head snapped up and he stared at Harry in confusion. "Whadda ya mean?"
Harry emptied his own glass in a quick neat swallow and poured another with a hand he was careful to keep rock-steady. "Death changes a man, Champ. I died at Valentine's hand, shot through the head. And Whiskey died by my hand, in my insanity."
"That weren't yer fault," Champ snapped out, cutting Harry off. "Ya were off yer nut from that dang recombinant poison, Harry, an' we both know it. Don't ya dare blame yerself or so help me, pardner, I'll cross the pond an' kick yer damn ass my own self."
Harry huffed out a sudden, sad laugh- Champ might have a few flaws here and there, but there was no denying he was a man unshakably and fiercely loyal to those he cared about. "Point taken, my friend, but my point nonetheless stands. You cannot go through that... experience and remain the person you were." He sobered and regarded the glass in his hand pensively. "As I died, Champ, I looked back on my life and saw how empty it was, by my own decision... and I regretted so much. So much."
Champ sat back in his own chair and considered that startling admission. "Ya think the same thing happened ta Whiskey?"
"I know the same thing happened to Whiskey," Harry replied, unshakeable certainty coloring his tone. "What remains to be seen is how it changed him. But whatever kind of man he is now, Champ, Whiskey is not the man he was. For better or worse, he is a different person. There is no roadmap in the past for what will happen next."
Champ stared through the video pickup at Harry, knocked right out of his bleak fugue by Harry's astonishing admission. "Well, I'll be damned."
"Possibly, but not by me," Harry quipped dryly, but sobered. "I don't know what's going to happen, Champ. But for what's it's worth, Agent Whiskey is not the man he was. Nor am I."
Champ picked up his glass and held it out, conscious he did feel better for what he knew was a level of brutal honesty Harry never shared with anyone else. "Here's to second chances, my friend."
Harry smiled and matched the gesture, holding out his glass. "To second chances, my friend."
They drained the glasses together, and when he was done Champ set the glass down on his desk blotter with a thump and pushed it away, capping the bottle.
"So tell me, pardner, now that we sorted out my problem, what can I do fer you?"
Harry smiled.
* * *