Dammit, dammit, dammit. He was doing okay. He was being a strong agent, a Kingsman. He wasn't even sure which one hit him that hard. Harry remembering JB, or that touch.

His eyes closed, so tight, painfully so, fighting the tears. "You didn't. You did your job. Don't worry though. The bastard that shot you paid for it." Not enough though. Not nearly fucking enough. "I did my job though, Harry. Promise. I did everything that you'd be proud. Every day."