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ardentmuse · 6 years

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The Real Me (Harry Hart x Reader)

Kingsman - Harry Hart x fem!Reader

Summary: When Harry wakes from a coma with temporary amnesia, you are the Statesman agent assigned to help him regain his memory.

Wordcount: 3.1k

Warnings: none (let me know if you see something

Masterlist

(NOTE: gif courtesy of google. Credit to original creator)

Day 1

You took a deep breath before entering the bedroom containing your newest patient, a man who had just woken after months in a coma, recovered from a rather gruesome crime scene at a church a little ways from Headquarters. Really the room was an all-white security cell with a one-way mirror for observation, but your patient didn’t need to know that.

When you entered and shut the door behind you, the man turned. He had an eye-patch covering where his eye once had been and was still recovering from some bruises, but otherwise, you couldn’t help but note, he was remarkably handsome.

“Hello,” he said, formal and friendly, “Could you tell me where I am?” He broke eye contact with you to look around the room, though there was nothing to indicate anything helpful.

“You’re in a safe place,” you said, intentionally vague though reassuring. You smiled at him, hoping he’d decide to trust you.

“And who are you?” he asked.

“They call me Brandy.”

“Is that your real name?” His gaze was back on you, genuinely curious.

“It’s more of a nickname,” you informed him as you took a cautious step closer, “and what’s your name?”

“I’m Harry.” You smiled, happy that your patient had the basics. He was doing better than you thought.

Day 6

“Tell me about your parents, Harry.”

As Statesman’s resident psychologist, you had been tasked with the job of trying to recover the memories of Harry Hart, origins unknown. You had learned everything you could about his childhood and teen years, but then things get cloudy. He claimed to be lepidopterist but you knew that wasn’t true given your research. Still, you’d provided him with materials to study and journals to work in, hoping that living out part of his fictional life would help him remember his real one.

You were quite excited about this assignment. As psychologist for an elite intelligence organization, your primary role was assessing agents for approval for field work, helping to deal with the stress. Occasionally, you’d be called in to build psycho-graphic profiles on targets to help field agents know how to best build trust and predict the enemy’s next move. Recently, the majority of your job had been listening to Tequila complain about Whiskey or Whiskey complain about Tequila. Honestly, you had earned some work that really used your skills.

While social psychology had become your trade, your real passion had always been the biological foundations of behavior; how the physical makeup of the brain influenced personality, cognition, and motor function. Harry’s case was perfect for you. The primary location of the damage to his brain shouldn’t have impacted his memory at all. All the force had been concentrated to his frontal lobe, so you’d expect erratic moods, changes in motivations, difficulty with higher level thinking, and even temporary amnesia, but not permanent memory loss. Your only logic was that Harry’s primary issue was distinguishing reality from fiction, a higher order function. Somewhere in his head his memories existed, but he was having trouble seeing them as his past. Perhaps he was processing them as stories or movies or the lives of friends, but not his own history.

“My parents,” he reflected, pulling his leg up underneath him where he sat on his bed, you beside him, “were reserved. They were quite old when I was born, their only child. My mother was the headmistress of my grammar school and my father was a military man. Everything was very, well, proper. They passed away a few years ago.”

Harry was fidgeting with his fingers, still a little nervous around you. You knew by a few years ago, he really meant a few decades ago, as his memory seemed to cut out somewhere in his twenties.

“Do you miss them?” you asked him from your seat beside him.

“Sometimes,” he said, looking up to meet your eyes. “But somehow that feels like so long ago.”

Day 14

“What is this?” Harry asked, as he ate his lunch beside you. You had found it was easier to talk over a meal. It felt more natural. So you had began bringing him lunch every afternoon.

“That?” you asked, pointing to the dessert Harry had just taken a bite of, “That’s a Derby Pie. Sort of a staple of these parts.”

Harry took another bite. “It reminds me of the Christmas Pudding we used to have when I was a child.”

You lit up. Any time Harry recalled memories of his own accord, not at your prompting, you knew you were making progress.

You wanted to ask him further but he spoke first. “Did you grow up with Derby pie, Brandy?”

“No, I’m not from around here.”

“What brought you here then?”

“Work,” you offered, still intentionally vague. Harry didn’t respond well to any of your initial prompts about the kind of work you did. Your research that let you know he was once in the military and then the record sort of disappears. The few times people had surprised or frightened him, you could see he was a highly skilled man of some kind with quick reflexes and instincts. Perhaps an agent in his own right. You hoped telling him about your own work would trigger something, but it only ever made him a strange sort of sad.

“And what sort of work is that?”

“I’m a psychologist, Harry, you know that. You injured your head and I’m here to help you.”

Harry face contorted into an odd sort of scowl. “Come now, Brandy. I can tell there is more going on than that,” he sighed lightly, “So you’re only talking to me because you’re trying to help me?”

“No, I do genuinely enjoy your company, too,” you said, entirely sincerely. He was a good storyteller, with a generous spirit. You had found yourself spending more and more time here, more than was probably fully necessary, and definitely long enough each day to catch Ginger’s attention. She had warned you about setting boundaries, about acknowledging when the case was a lost cause, but you couldn’t stop yourself when the man before you seemed so truly full of life and kindness.

He smiled and nodded before placing his attention back on his lunch.

Day 29

“How are you feeling today, Harry?” you asked as you entered his room.

He turned up from a notebook to smile at you. “Brandy,” he uttered jovially, “I’m so glad you’ve stopped in.”

“It seems you are doing well.” You sat down beside him as you always did, eying at his notebook. He was partway through a detailed diagram of a thorax and abdomen.

“Always when I get to see a face as friendly as yours,” he said.

“You’re too kind.”

“No, genuinely, thank you for care. As you know, I am, well, a little confused at the moment. Having you as a constant is helping ease my worry.”

His gaze was soft and his voice sincere. You felt genuinely moved by his affection. You were happy to bring him peace, but wished desperately you could also bring him his memories. You couldn’t help but blush, looking down at your hands.

“May I…” Harry’s voice was quiet, “May I give you a hug?”

You quickly lifted your gaze to him. He seemed sheepishly, shyly looking down as you just were, like two preteens unsure of how affection worked. The entire image was so earnest you felt your heart swell and your throat tighten.

You reached up and patted him on the shoulder. He turned to look at you, pink tinting his cheekbones, his brown eyes conveying the embarrassment he seemed to feel at the innocent inquiry.

You patted his shoulder again and opened your arms to him. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he pulled you into a comforting embrace. He rested his head on your shoulder. You couldn’t help but relish in the warmth that radiated from his torso and the soothing, calming feel of each of his breaths and he lingered in your embrace.

Day 34

“No, really, it was the funnest thing! I couldn’t stop laughing and neither could any of the other fifth-graders. I wore the name “hard hat Harry” with pride until we graduated.”

You were in a fit of giggles on the floor beside Harry. He was laughing too, having a hard time even finishing his story.

“Harry,” you said through the few breaths you could manage, “I can’t believe you were such a rebel.”

As he regained his breath, he turned to you, his mouth forming a small smile, one of affection. You felt a flutter in your chest that you instantly regretted. This was your patient, you had to remember. Your handsome, kind, honest patient. You needed information to help him, yes, but you feared you were doing something you shouldn’t by allowing yourself to care more and more each day.

“Not for long, sadly. Rebels do not make very good gentlemen,” he said.

“And you consider yourself a gentleman?” you asked.

“Indeed, my dear,” he said, leaning slightly closer into your side as you sat together on his bed. He took your hand in his and gave your knuckles the gentlest of kisses. You couldn’t breath or take your eyes off his hand holding yours. He held you there for a few moments before he gently drummed his fingers into your palm. The action pulled your gaze up to meet his. He was leaning in closer to you than you had realized, but you didn’t mind it in the slightest. You could smell the mint of his breath and feel the warmth of it. You found yourself wanting to lean in further too. To just get the slightest taste, just for a moment.

“As they say,” he said to you in a near whisper, “Manners maketh man.”

As he processed the words he said, his face went blank with confusion. He pulled back from you, dropping your hand without a thought. It was like something in him broke for a moment and reset. He seemed to have no concept of where he was or what was happening.

After a second or two, he blinked, and turned back to you. “I’m sorry, love, what were you saying?”

Day 52

You crossed the room to look at the latest additions, his sketches now so numerous they took up an entire wall. Your eyes landed on a particularly vibrant swallowtail in the upper corner. “This one is beautiful,” you said as you pointed up to it.

“The Blue Mountain Swallowtail, native to Australia. They are some of the first butterflies that really caught my eyes. The iridescence of their wings, their practical curves easing their flight, their dominance over their environments. They remind me of you.”

You turned to look at him, intrigued by this line of discussion.

“Of me?” you asked, voice quieting with a slight shyness at the thought of him associating you with one of his most prized objects of study.

“Yes,” he said, reaching up to pull the image from the wall, “Elegant and beautiful,” he said as though to the butterfly in his hands. “But tough,” he now turned to you, “and consistent.” He turned to you now, taking a step so his face was right in line with yours, “And unimaginably captivating.”

You felt as though you had never heard anything more beautiful in your life. As you looked up into his eyes, your body heating with your proximity, you couldn’t help but realize you felt the exact same way about the man in front of you.

“Harry,” you whispered, completely moved.

He shuffled forward just an inch more, moving his hand to the base of your neck, caressing your jaw with his thumb, silently asking permission. You swallowed, nodded, and leaned into his hand as you felt him lift your head.

As your lips met, soft and gentle, your mind went blank. You knew it was wrong to fall for him, but you just couldn’t help it. You had learned everything there was to know about this man’s character over the last two months and you had yet to find a single flaw. Your perfect idea of what a partner should be had landed into your life in the most unconventional form. You found yourself yearning for closeness, reaching up to grab his shirt and pull yourself to him.

You felt him smile against your lips at your eagerness and just as the kiss began to grow deeper, you heard a light knock at the door. You immediately pulled yourself away, trying your hardest to catch your breath and not look disheveled.

Ginger popped her head in the door after a few seconds. “Brandy, you are needed in the briefing room.”

Day 53

The men Ginger had introduced you to the day before claimed to be from your sister organization, Kingsman, in the UK. When they had immediately identified Harry as one of their own, all the pieces began to make sense: the military history, the strong reflexes, the impeccable manners, his presence at the gruesome crime scene when his body was recovered.

You talked them through everything you knew, every method you had tried to pull out his past memories. They agreed with your assessment and suggested a few strategies to elicit enough trauma to pull him out of his fog. You hesitantly agreed.

Today’s initial attempt was to flood his cell. You watched as Harry struggled, failing to pull out his natural instincts and find a way out of the situation. You expected the challenge to be a little too big of a leap for his mind to make. What you hadn’t anticipated was just how difficult it was for you to sit behind that glass and watch the man you had grown to care for struggle so. You felt a lump forming in your throat and yourself shaking slightly after the ordeal. Even during the regroup an hour later, you hadn’t fully recovered.

Merlin pulled you aside as the group discussed strategies. “Are you alright, Brandy?”

You took a few deep breaths. “I will be. It is just hard to watch him struggle so.”

Merlin’s face scrunched into what could only be described as a thinking frown before he nodded and left you alone.

Day 60

A week of strategies had resulted in nothing, leading everything to think that the cause of recovering Harry was essentially useless. You had been avoiding Harry these past few days, Ginger having convinced you to leave these most recent attempts to the Kingsman team. You watched from the other side of the one way glass, wondering just what you could do for him, when Eggsy burst into the room carrying a dog.

Eggsy was like a mad-man, threatening to kill the innocent little terrier puppy, yelling in Harry’s face, but whatever was happening seemed to be working.

“No, you can’t. You can’t,” Harry cried, frantic at the young man harassing him. And then his face went blank, he pulled back, falling into the wall behind him and everything seemed to disappear to him for a few seconds.

When he recovered, he blinked up at the men in front of him, “Eggsy? Merlin? Where am I?”

You felt yourself exhale sharply. Harry was back, making you both simultaneously overjoyed and completely ruined. You’d miss him, wherever he was going.

You sat and listened as the men recounted for him what he had missed, confirmed details of his life, and explained how he ended up where he was now.

You watched as the confusion continued to create tension in Harry’s body. His shouldered tightened. His jaw clenched. His hands kept pulling into fists and releasing. The shock of the extent of his temporary memory loss was overwhelming him. You wanted more than anything to help to ease his pain. But the Harry you knew wasn’t there anymore. It was replaced by his old self. His real self. Whatever you had built was false. You hated to admit that it broke your heart.

After a few minutes and many concentrated breaths, you saw Harry began to ease.

“So I was never a lepidopterist?” He asked, as though confirming.

“No, you had wanted to be. But then you joined the army, you met me, joined Kingsman, and, well, that was your life instead,” Merlin reiterated to him.

Harry sighed. “I’m guessing I made up my dream girl, too,” he mumbled, so low you almost didn’t hear him. You perked up at the words.

“You’re what?” Eggsy asked.

“My perfect woman,” he took a deep breath and locked eyes with Eggsy, “The kind, sweet, caring woman who came visit me everyday, with the beautiful face and enchanting voice. If my dream career was all in my head, I’m assuming she was too.”

Merlin and Eggsy eyed at each other. You held your breath, so filled with anticipation that Harry might just have retained his memories of you, that he may even want to see whatever this thing is you two had developed.

“Harry, what was her name?” Merlin asked, slow and calculated.

“Brandy. Why?” Harry responded.

Merlin nodded at Eggsy. Eggsy stood, came to the mirror and knocked, knowing you’d be on the other side. You were still trying steady your breathing, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Hey, Agent Brandy, you wanna come in here?” Eggsy called your way.

Still in a daze, you left the room. When you reached the door to where Harry was, Eggsy and Merlin were exiting.

“Be good to him, eh?” Eggsy said to you. You couldn’t help but blush.

But before you could reply, Merlin piped in, “I don’t think we have to worry, Eggsy.” Merlin gave you a look that made it clear he was not remotely surprised by this turn of events.

You nodded to them an entered the room.

Upon seeing you, Harry immediately stood. “Brandy?” he asked with trepidation.

You smiled at him, hesitantly moving forward. “It’s Y/N, actually. Brandy is my code name.”

He smiled at that, stepping towards you, hand outstretched. “Well, Brandy, I’m Harry, or Galahad.” He paused. “Actually, I’m not sure if I’m Galahad anymore.” You reached out to shake his hand, but he instead brought your knuckles up to his lips to kiss them gently.

You couldn’t help but giggle. “You are if you want to be, so it seems.”

“I’m not fully sure what I want to be, to be honest. But I do know I would like to start over with you, as the real me”

“Harry,” you said, pulling yourself so you stood directly underneath him, “I do think I know the real you. Not all the details, but certainly the important ones. The heart.”

Harry smiled down at you, his hands coming to rest on your waist. “Then maybe we start where we left off?” And with that, he leaned down and took your lips in the most gentle, delicate kiss.

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa

Harry Hart tags: @un-education

#harry hart #harry hart x reader #harry x reader #harry hart imagine #kingsman #kingsman imagine #kingsman: the secret service #kingsman: the golden circle #agent!reader #statesman #reader insert

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