A/N

HELLO! GOODNESS THIS FANDOM HAS HIT ME STRAIGHT BETWEEN THE EYES AND I LITERALLY CANNOT GET ENOUGH OF THE HARTWIN SHIP! UGHHH! So I wanted to write a fic where Harry lives and Eggsy nurses him back to health pretty much. Lots of angst and hurt/comfort/whump and FLUFF! This is my first Hartwin fic (and I never write romance of any sort) (and the first chapter is set up) so bear with me and I welcome requests and suggestions :)

Chapter One

Eggsy stared in horror at the images flashing across the monitor, the sheer violence and brutality in his mentor.

It was almost too much to watch and Eggsy found himself curling back into the cool leather of Harry's over sized office chair as he watched the slaughter of the crazed church congregants.

"'Arry wha' 'tre ya doin'?"

He knew Merlin was watching the bloody feed too, no doubt any less horror stricken than he as the tech's shocked voice crackles through the com,

"Harry! Harry what is going going on? HARRY?!"

It wasn't Harry, it wasn't the collected Kingsman. It was as if a mindless killing machine had stolen Harry's skin.

Eventually the images on the feed became still, slumped and lifeless bodies littering the destroyed pews.

Harry was looking in bewilderment around at the work of his hands and Eggsy felt his face crumpling in anguish for his friend as the feed jerked towards the large double doors, struggling to escape from the massacre.

He's rooted to his seat as Valentine and Gazelle came into focus, standing in the quiet parking lot, no doubt pleased by the results of the test.

It was wrong though, all wrong. Eggsy thought, watching the unsteady dip and sway of the feed as Harry began to feel the staggering effects of the fight and his injuries became noticeable.

"What did you do to me? I had no control. I killed all those people...I wanted to."

There's a small tremble in Harry's voice and Eggsy clenches his fists at the smirk spreading across Valentine's face.

Why wasn't there a Kingsman team there already? Why was Harry alone?

"Fuck."

This was bad.

"Clever isn't it? In simple terms its a neurological weapon that triggers the centers of aggression while switching off inhibitence."

"Transmitted through your nasty free sim cards I assume." Harry's voice is low with rage and exaustion and Eggsy begins reaching for his phone to call Merlin.

Valentine strolls forward, "You know what this is like? Its like those old movies we both love."

There's a sinking feeling growing in Eggsy's gut as the billionaire continues, "Now I'm gonna tell you my whole plan and come up with some absurd and convoluted way to kill you and you'll find an equally convoluted way to escape."

"Sounds good to me."

Valentine's gaze turns steely as he clips out, "Well this ain't that kind of movie."

Eggsy's breath stops in the split second the gun hovers in front of Harry's face before a terrible roaring noise explodes from the speakers and the feed jerks, glitches and stops, the screen going black.

FEED LOST...

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The words blink slowly on the dark screen and Eggsy slams the laptop shut with a shuddering gasp.

No.

His vision swims and his throat is painfully tight as he throws himself from the chair, Harry's deep comforting scent clinging to him as he runs from the office.

Fuck them all, they had failed Harry.

He stumbles down the stairs into the warm downstairs, standing in the engulfing silence as his blood pounds in his ears; momentarily forgetting where he is.

Harry's house, neat, unassuming, warm, an mirror image of its owner. Eggsy looks down the hall to the open door of the loo where Mr. Pickles lies curled, staring back at him as if to ask, 'Where's Harry?' or accuse, 'You failed him, disappointed him, disgraced him and now he's dead."

Eggsy turns away, swallowing hard against the tightness in the back of his throat. Filling himself a crystal tumbler from the decanter of whiskey sitting on the sideboard he slumps into the chair at the head of the large dinning table.

It seemed like such an odd thing for Harry to have and Eggsy finds himself wondering if guests ever filled every seat. He thinks not however upon seeing the dust gathered across the chairs and far end of the table. The chair he is sitting in now seems to be the only one that was ever used and it is easy for Eggsy to picture Harry sitting alone late at night with a meal he had cooked, the house dark and quiet and Mr. Pickles sitting over the loo.

The little framed collections of buttons and coins and soft watercolor paintings hanging on the walls give off an air of solitude and perhaps loneliness. Eggsy downs the whiskey, expensive stuff no doubt, Harry would've quietly remarked about the year with a small smile and a warm sparkle in his dark eyes. He realizes he knew hardly anything about this man who had so drastically changed his life and now he had no way to ask him.

Slamming the tumbler down on the polished table top he gets to his feet.

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Eggsy takes the airplane steps two at a time, jaw set, barely hearing Merlin's voice raised behind him in warning, "Eggsy. Eggsy wait. Wait a damn minute!"

"What? I'm goin' to see 'Arry."

The bald agent sighs, shrugging out of his pilots' jacket as he to climbs down from the plane door, "Yes Eggsy, I know. But you need to slow down, you need to understand Harry is most likely dying."

Eggsy doesn't say anything for a moment before unclenching his jaw enough to answer, "Yeah well dyin or not I'm goin' to be there for Harry. I'm goin' to be there when he wakes up. 'S the least I can do."

Merlin sighs again and waves Eggsy to follow him.

The medical ward of HQ is the same as Eggsy remembers it, the last time something happened to Harry. The overpowering scent of bleach burns his nose as he's ushered down the long sterile hall to the catacomb of patient rooms. He remembers how Harry had looked the last time, tubes and wires sticking out from every exposed patch of skin, his face pale and breath monitored by the steady beep of a machine. Nothing prepares his for this time though when he pushes the door open reading 'Hart H.' and sees Harry.

The agent is lying so still and his skin such an unnatural grey color Eggsy thinks for a sickening moment he's too late. The machines keep up a ceaseless cacophony of beeps and ticks as Eggsy cautiously approaches the figure lying in the bed, face partially obscured by bandages.

"Oh 'Arry."

He sinks into the chair beside the bed and runs his hands over his face, anguish rising up like a tidal wave. The man that had seemed to him indestructible now appears so frail and broken, struggling for breath through the oxygen mask, the right side of his face obliterated and hidden in gauze.

Valentine was dead but it doesn't give Eggsy much satisfaction, it doesn't heal Harry.

"I'm sorry 'Arry." Eggsy murmurs, reaching out cautiously to take the limp hand in his; the skin is like ice and Eggsy longs for the strong grip on his shoulder from that hand as he pulls it gently to his chest, murmuring again, "I'm so sorry."

'For what dear boy? For what? There was nothing you could have done.'

Eggsy can hear Harry's soft baritone in his mind as identical tears make their way down his cheeks. "For failing you."

He lays his head down on the mattress edge, Harry's hand pressed to his cheek; he never wanted Harry's last thoughts of him to be ones of shame and disappointment.

"Please 'Arry, wake up."