EAD Snippet – Counterbalance Ending

Title: Counterbalance
Fandom: Kingsman
Pairings: Eventual Mycroft Holmes/Eggsy
Summary:Written in the Skin Soulmate AU. Yes, another. I’m a sappy fuck, okay?
Warning: Eggsy’s Epic danger boner


Mycroft Holmes got his soulmark at the age of 23.

Rather late in life considering 75% of the population receive theirs within the first five years of life.

He remembers it well. He’d been sitting, discussing his thesis with his adviser, when his wrist had flared up in a bright, joyful not-actually-pain. Being who he is he’s never told anyone, of course. And he’d already been wearing a soul cover because no one needed to know of his unmarked state so he changed precisely none of his habits.

He didn’t even rush home to look. After all if his soulmate had just entered this world, well, then the person had just been born, hadn’t they? A soulmate 23 years his junior. Lovely.

Still, he’d looked into the lad. Found him in a loving home with two seemingly well-adjusted parents and resolved to leave him alone until he was at least 25.

Then his soulmate had not only joined but quit the Marines after proving himself to be one of the best recruits they’d had since his own father and his updated folder had crossed Mycroft’s desk for consideration. Still, he stayed the course. The lad had to be 25 before Mycroft would introduce himself or meddle in anyway.

So it’s a surprise. A rather pleasant surprise when after six weeks of captivity in the mountain stronghold of one Richmond Valentine that his soulmate opens his cell door. That his soulmate is the one that grants him his freedom.

And that his soul mate introduces himself as Lancelot.

“And you are?” The lad asks.

“Mycroft Holmes.”

Gary Unwin AKA Lancelot’s eyes widen a bit but he just soldiers on. “Where is home for you then? We have planes going to London, Berlin, Stockholm?”

“London, naturally. And you, Mr. Unwin?”

A grin breaks out on his soulmate’s face. “It’s Eggsy, bruv,” The lad’s accent completely changes, doing a 180 from posh to working class fast enough to make Mycroft blink. “But let’s stick with Lancelot around the muggles, yeah?”

“Of course.” He pauses to take the lad in. The suit almost passes for a normal one but Mycroft can detect the tell-tale stiffness of a ’round table suit’. Signet ring. Thick framed glasses. Shoe with a knife in the toe. He hasn’t yet confirmed the name of the private spy organization that occasionally works with himself and the Prime Minister but he will now. They have his soulmate, after all.


Eggsy has always had a type. It’s specific and contradictory. It’s confusing and not what anyone would expect from a person with as casual a relationship with rules as himself.

Meeting his soulmate clears a lot of that up for Eggsy.

Older: Check.

Male: Check.

Well-dressed: Check.

Obviously intelligent: Check.

Palpable air of authority: Check.

He hits all of Eggsy’s stops even better than either Harry Hart or Merlin. And there’s a bonus vicious sharpness to him even here in captivity that Harry with all his training and skills never quite managed.

“Mycroft Holmes.” The man answers his inquiry with great aplomb, as if they are meeting on the street, not in the deep underground lair of a megalomaniac.

And now he knows why Merlin started cursing as soon as he opened the door. Eggsy’s soulmate is a VIP. An obviously a British VIP. His soulmate. Merlin can’t expect him to dart this one. “Where is home for you then? We have planes going to London, Berlin, Stockholm?”

“London, naturally. And you, Mr. Unwin?”

Eggsy has to physically swallow the want that mean little smile ignites in him. “It’s Eggsy, bruv.”

Eggsy can see the little image of Merlin in the corner of his heads-up display, his fingers flying over a keyboard, but Eggsy really doesn’t have the energy to split his focus away from his soulmate. Not until a second little image pops into view that is. It’s a woman with long, slightly curly brown hair. Her mouth is drawn into an unimpressed line. She’s wearing glasses because of course she is, she’s obviously a Kingsman.

She pulls the blackberry she was staring at to her ear and answers with an imperious, “Speak.”

“Bors,” Merlin greets. “We’ve found him.”

“Location.” She demands.

“Richmond Valentine had him captive.” There’s a pause as she turns and orders someone to get on Richmond Valentine. She wants everything. “We’ll bring him to UK HQ and move him to a safehouse nearby after Medical. He’ll be back on the job as soon as he’s cleared but Kingsman will maintain his security. No MI-6 until the situation has stabilized.”

“Of course, sir. Keep me posted.”

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